


Halo: Feet First

by MikeDice



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Forerunners, Halo Lore, Human-Covenant War, Multi, ODST Orbital Drop Shock Trooper(s), References to Halo (Video Games), SPARTAN Program
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 61
Words: 378,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26435116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikeDice/pseuds/MikeDice
Summary: Halo: Feet First covers the story of a team of UNSC Orbital Drop Shock Troopers of the 7th Battalion, 105th Shock Troops Division. The main character, Duncan Iris, faces the full horror of the covenant war effort against humanity as well as the brave retaliation of outnumbered and outgunned UNSC forces. However, he also witnesses the turning of the tides as the war progresses.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 21





	1. Prologue

Prologue:

"Ut est rerum omnium magister usus: Experience is the best teacher." Those words purportedly spoken by the first Dictator of Rome, Julius Caesar, are fitting not only for his time but also for ours. Though he spoke to an ancient yet strong people in the Latin language, today the Roman Empire no longer exists, and Latin has been declared a dead language. And I am of the opinion that given sufficient time, UNSC Standard English and all other languages spoken by humanity will also become dead languages for the same reason if we do not consider the lessons of our predecessors.

Over the course of many centuries the Roman Republic-turned-Empire eventually expanded to the degree that it had reached critical mass, then fragmented into an endless spiral of rising factions, civil war and external incursions until it became a shadow of its former self. As for the present, it's been over half a millennium since mankind first reached its hand out to space and four hundred years since we began our interplanetary expansion. While the United Earth Government has found colonization profitable, the truth that we are in danger of overreaching our current capacities is not a consideration. As the idiom goes: "We're biting off more than we can chew."

Akin to Rome, it won't be long before we also wear through our glory days of expansion and face a new crisis whose onset was brought about by an overeagerness for more colony worlds. Even now the UEG's management of these outer colony worlds is subpar compared to available resources and anti-UEG dissent is becoming the prevalent ideology in these regions.

It comes in high recommendation by prominent sociologists that the United Earth Government cease its extension and development of human territories primarily beyond the Orion-Cygnus Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy. (See my reference to Articles of Stagnation by Dr. Deborah Marshall in Appendix A). Instead, action should be taken to consolidate resources and influence over preestablished and currently developing colonies.

In doing so, future opposition and impending rebellion against UEG control over these planets may be abated. However, as we learned from the Romans, ignoring such precautions will leave humanity standing on the precipice of civil capitulation and extended military interventions on the part of the United Nations Space Command to stabilize systems likely attempting to break away in pursuit of independence from colonial authorities. In such a situation, only two possible outcomes can occur according to historical patterns of societal progression and regression. In the first scenario, internal forces in the form of local insurrections will fester to the degree that all efforts will be redirected to addressing these new domestic threats which will bring about a forced end to extended colonization. However, the second scenario is far more disturbing. Like the incursions by Germanic tribes into the Roman Empire that slowly ate away at its borders, an external force beyond humanity may arise. There is no liable prediction as to what this external force may be, but should it move from a possibility to a reality then it will lead to only the bleakest outcome. A local insurrection can be quelled overtime. However, an outward force beyond our control poses the potential to roll us back from the stars all the way to the beginnings of our evolutionary origins in the continental heart of Africa.

Action must be taken now to preserve order and long-term sustainability within the current colonies. Should preventative measures be avoided then future internal rebellions have the potential to end the United Earth Government's influence as an intersystem authority, but under the more extreme and more unlikely condition, intervention by a previously unknown and unencountered external force may foster the potential to bring about our very end as a species."

-An excerpt of "The Viability of Extended Colonization", an essay paper by Preston Cole to his English Teacher, Ms. Alexander (Written 2485).

Exordium - Preamble


	2. Camp Ravenport - Chapter 1 (Electiones)

Chapter 1 – Electiones

July 28th, 2543 (15:35 Hours)

Sol System, Earth

Chicago, United Republic of North America

101 days after Admiral Preston Cole's Last Stand at the Battle of Psi Serpentis

:********:

"Helljumper, helljumper, where you been?

Feet first into hell and back again!"

His dad had taught him that. As a child he would poke and prod him about his job on the few rare occasions when he was home. Blue Visors. Black boots. One-way missions and pods that offered rides unlike any rollercoaster. It was a single drop, and whether it landed you in heaven or hell was the result of a fine cocktail mix of skill and blind luck, but it was often the latter.

When his dad had taught him the cadence, he would sing it almost every morning. After saying goodbye to his mom, he would take his backpack, rush out the door and down the street. He would jog to the school-shuttle singing it under his breath. Oftentimes he would struggle with his pack while an imaginary drill instructor roared at him to keep pace with both song and step. The other kids would stare at him once he got there as they tried to figure out why he was so pumped to go somewhere they would rather avoid. Ignoring the stares came easily enough, because what they didn't know was that he was 'pumped' for something completely different, and if he had to charge his way through elementary school to get there then that left only one option.

"When I die please bury me deep!

Place an MA5 down by my feet!"

Right now, those stares were baring into the back of his head, just as much as the sight of the open casket lying in front of him bore into his soul. He had forced himself to take one heavy step after another until he reached it. He didn't dare look at the face inside. Instead, he placed a rose on top of the growing pile of flowers laid over the casket. But his eyes betrayed him and he glanced at the opening.

There his mother's face that was usually warm and filled with affection was cold, pale and the doll-like texture of the skin courtesy of embalming made it seem like it wasn't her. For a moment he entertained the idea of it being some fake, that she had used a replica in place of the real deal. Then memory squelched the thought once it took him back to that morning two weeks ago when the doctors had come out to them in the main foyer of the hospital and shook their heads. His mother's battle with lung-cancer brought on by years of obsessive smoking was over. The frail, lifeless body he found lying in her hospital bed testified to who had won that fight.

"Don't cry for me, don't shed no tear!

Just pack my box with PT gear!"

Addiction. It was something that she had used to balance her juggling act of two realities: being both a mother and a widow.

He had only just turned six years old when he first saw the officers coming up the steps onto their front porch. He'd gone out just behind his mother and watched from the door. The officers used a data pad to project the image of his dad's face with dark buzz-cut hair, piercing blue eyes, a tough jawline, and a confident smile. He didn't see the 'status' listing next to it or the words "KIA". Being silly he had thought that they accidentally gave his dad a girl's name. But everything became clear once his mother fell to her knees, shaking. Even today he could still remember how she wailed as the officers tried to help her back onto her feet. Their condolences never drowned out the sorrow he heard that day.

There was no body. Just a notification he was gone. It was that way for many families that lost loved ones in the most recent war faced by humanity and the UNSC. That fact didn't make it any easier for those left behind.

Back then, the Harvest Campaigns had been grinding out more and more devastating losses of life every day. Even with a naval genius of a man like Admiral Cole at the helm, the fighting on that world proved little more than one bloody stalemate after another. That wasn't to knock Cole's leadership, but to attest to the nigh unstoppable nature of the new enemy they now faced.

The strange amalgamation of aliens known collectively as the Covenant were a threat that seemingly materialized from the farthest depths of the galaxy. They also couldn't have come at a worse time. The UNSC was already struggling to deal with the Insurrection in the outer colonies which had risen to a fever pitch by the time of first contact. Still, upon arrival the aliens quickly stole the show. While the Insurrectionists had bombed ships, destroyed military installations and even fought toe to toe with the Navy, they had never torched an entire planet.

Once the Covenant had discovered more human worlds, the term "glassing" became a familiar word to the masses. Leaked images started to show more and more colonies reduced to glowing balls of radioactive destruction. Places like Biko, Bliss, Circinius IV and Hat Yai were ones where even the mere mention was enough to change the atmosphere of the most jovial conversation to a solemn one. Despite the losses, humanity had at least won at the second battle of Harvest. That said, it still bore its own weight in blood, and at least one of its casualties had hit far too close to home.

The week after the telegram, another letter had arrived for them. It was from his dad, sent before he died presumably. Knowing he would miss his son's birthday while on deployment. He had wanted to make it up to him by sending him a rock or other souvenir from another world. It was a simple gift: a granite rock the size of his fist from the farthest flung colony world of Harvest. He would never know that his son would always keep that rock on him at all times. It was the closest thing he had to the man himself being back home. Yet his mother was left to cling to what jobs she could find and to what relief she could get. Thanks to one too many nights of cigarettes, eventually her son was the one taking care of her.

After graduating from high school, he skipped college and immediately jumped into the Marine Corps Reserves. The goal at the time was a lofty one, join the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers and serve in the war effort against the Covenant like his Father had. Then his mom's failing health stalled that dream indefinitely. He didn't want her to be alone, not at a time when she needed someone by her side, so he stayed.

"Cuz one early morning 'bout zero-five!

The ground will rumble, there'll be lightning in the sky!"

Thunder resounded through the dark clouds that had come to blanket the morning skies over Chicago. They released a growing torrent of rain on the bustling city below that started off as a shower and was gradually becoming harder with each passing minute. The bad weather had caused the funeral of Lian Iris to be sped up a bit. After a few rushed speeches by distant relatives and coworkers that knew her, the entire thing was over.

Now, the casket was being lowered into the newest of many graves within the old Saint Mary's Catholic Church cemetery. Most of the gathering hadn't even stayed long after the casket itself was fully closed. The procession of men and women in dark-suits, dresses and umbrellas dispersed towards the entrance, leaving Lian's son to his lonesome.

Well that wasn't exactly true. A gentle squeeze by the woman holding his left hand reminded him he still had company. His own azure pupils shifted beneath his damp, black hair to look to his left. Both his own hand and that of the other shared the same silver rings. He looked up to meet her emerald gaze already looking out the corner of her eyes at him, gauging his response.

She looked strikingly beautiful in her black dress and heels. Despite the way her long blonde hair whipped about in the wind, she seemed unabated by it. It just added to a sense of quiet love and strength that she tended to exude at times when her husband could not. This was one of those times, and it never ceased to amaze him that he had had the good sense to give her the ring and his last name like he did.

"Ready?" She asked in a gentle voice that managed to reach him above the howling wind.

He turned back to the grave at his feet and tried taking a breath to steady himself. Before he could answer, he caught sight of a new arrival.

"Don't you worry, don't come undone

It's just my ghost on a PT run!"

The shock only lasted a moment. The man was the spitting image of his Father, at least how he would have looked had he lived a bit longer. A number of wrinkles creased his face while there were none to be spoken of in the crisp black and gray recruitment officer fatigues that he wore. Eyes that had probably seen the worst life had to offer and still come out sane looked with a sense of finality on the casket below. The man reverently kneeled down to drop a single flower onto the smooth fiber-glass surface below. Then his attention flitted to the couple standing nearby.

He stood up straight and brushed some water off his fatigues as he strode over to them.

"I guess I'm late." He said in a raspy voice. "Erica, its good to see you."

Erica gave a smile and accepted a hug from him. "Hey Rick." Rick turned to the one who was the real center of concern.

"How're you handling, D?"

Duncan couldn't find the right words to muster beyond "Alright, I guess."

His Uncle Richard, or Rick as he had grownup calling him, could easily sense what lay behind his words. Pain. He rested a hand on his shoulder and turned to Erica. "Can I borrow him for a minute?"

She looked between the two and nodded. "I'll meet you by the gate."

"Don't worry about that, I'll drive him home."

There was a flash of confusion on Erica's face. It faded once she understood what was really going on. "Okay, drive safely, alright?"

Rick snapped off a two-fingered salute. "Will do, mam." They both watched her stride across the wet grass and waited until she had disappeared beyond the gate. Without saying a word, they started along the cobblestone path leading up to the entrance. Both men knew exactly what this conversation would be about and neither was willing to entertain it until they were clear of the rows of gravestones. Duncan figured that his uncle asked for Erica's permission to talk to him rather than his own because he already knew that his nephew wouldn't say no to what he had to offer.

They made their way across the street and walked along a small plaza. Along the way, Duncan caught sight of a coffee shop where everyone inside was gathered around the News Displays. He briefly spotted a Waypoint reporter with an image of Admiral Preston Cole beside them. He could overhear what was being said. Words like "a day of great victory", "great loss", and "a day of mourning" stuck out to him. Thankfully, they didn't hurt as much as they did earlier.

"You heard about Cole, right?" Rick asked.

Duncan nodded and tore his attention away from the screens. "Yeah, I saw an earlier newscast."

"Turning a brown dwarf into a star?" His uncle huffed, shaking his head. "That's one hell of a last stand. I mean sure he took an entire armada of Covenant uglies out with him, but I don't know if I could go out like that myself. I'd prefer my boots on the ground."

There it was. He had to hand it to the old man that age hadn't made him any less sharp, or any less subtle. Still he didn't capitalize on the topic yet. Instead he let it sit there for now.

The two came to a parking lot on the opposite side of the road. They scanned along rows of cars for a full minute until they found their ride. It was an M12 Light Reconnaissance Vehicle or 'Warthog' so named for its thick armored carriage, all-terrain rubber wheels and a tusk-like tow rope mounted to the front. It lacked the hulking turret that was usually attached to the back. That didn't take much away from its imposing stature.

Rick hopped into the driver's seat while Duncan took shotgun. With a turn of the keys in the ignition the vehicle roared to life.

They slipped out of the lot and through a labyrinth of busy streets before settling on an interstate highway. They headed south, away from the storm. It was after the last of the rain had fallen behind them that Rick finally spoke up.

"So, what's the story now, D?"

"No story, Uncs. Just life." Duncan replied with a palpable measure of apathy in his voice.

"…You sure about that?"

This wasn't the first time his uncle had tried to recruit him for the ODSTs. He had started on his case once Duncan had become a Marine Reserve. That showed he had the potential. But as his uncle concluded after numerous failed attempts to convince him to join up, what he lacked was the willingness. But now even that had to change and both of them knew it.

Rick drove them off the main highway and over a roundabout leading them onto a busy intersection. They had to stop for the light.

"You know, Cole was something of a hero of mine." Duncan said. "In high school I had to read up on all his old essays. The man practically predicted the Insurrection before the first shot was even fired, and he was only a teen when he wrote it. A 'teen'. I read up on other stuff like the articles of the Cole Protocol too and each of his major engagements with the Covenant for history classes. The man was a genius."

Duncan felt a heaviness settle in his heart at the praise he was now giving to a man he had idealized to the same degree as his Father, until having found out this morning that he had died almost half a year ago. His voice fell to a horse whisper. "He was all we really had between us…and them."

"Sounds like you're using his 'genius' as an excuse not to do anything yourself."

That stung, but in a way that only his uncle could do it and not be insulting. Duncan shook his head. "No, it's not that. It's just that-"

"What difference would it make if one more grunt joined the war effort compared to losing a hero like that? That's what you were thinking, right?"

Though he didn't want to admit it, his uncle had stolen the words right out of his mouth.

"Let me tell you something, D. What humanity needs today is not what it needed a few years ago. Maybe a hero would have sufficed when there were still outer colonies to protect. But times have changed. People don't need another hero like Cole, they need more grunts like you and me who are willing to grab a rifle and hold the line even if we know that we can't do it forever. And I know your dad would have thought the same way."

That stung too.

Duncan hadn't even realized that he was rolling around the rock from Harvest in his pants pocket. He stopped once he did. In some way holding it felt like being rebuked, especially after what Rick had said.

He bit back. "One man doesn't amount to much against a Covenant ship glassing a planet from orbit."

Rick shrugged. "No. But a Shock Trooper could amount to something, at least more than a charred body could that didn't try to do anything more than the bare minimum."

Rick was on a roll, and he had to have known that. He was breaking down his nephew's best arguments one after another for why he couldn't sign up. And slowly, Duncan felt himself being convinced. He didn't like it to say the least.

"Why don't you just admit it?" Rick asked.

"Admit what?"

Since the light was still red, his uncle turned fully to face him. "Admit the truth. You're not sold on the idea that being a soldier is meaningless. You're not scared of being glassed from orbit or dying in an out of control pod. I know you, deep down you're still that same kid that wanted to become a Helljumper while others his age were too busy picking their noses with their pencils. I know you, D."

Duncan felt the irritation boiling in his veins. He turned to face his uncle full on. "Why!? Why do you want me to join up so bad!? Why're you so eager to send me out there just so I can end up like dad, and leave Erica struggling to cope for the rest of her life? What, you haven't met your recruitment quota for the damned yet or something?"

The two stared the other down for seconds. It felt like an eternity. At length it was Rick who looked away as the light turned green. He drove them across the intersection and into the files of fast-moving traffic headed west, further towards the downtown area.

They let the silence of blaring horns and roaring engines simmer the growing heat between them. Rick was again the first to speak up. "My little brother, your father, was not damned. He was one of the first ODSTs to face those animals. We were in different battalions so we experienced different things, sure, you can argue that. However, while we were often sent into hell, we never once thought for a second that we were damned."

Duncan released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"The reason I want you to join up is not to get you killed." Rick said, eying the youth in his rear-view mirror. "It's because I want you to finally come alive, to live the life you know you always wanted, not an easy one but one that carries weight."

Duncan met his gaze and again the two were staring the other down. Eventually it was Duncan who gave up and settled his attention on the dashboard with arms folded.

"I know you stayed here with the Reserves because you didn't want to leave them; your mother and Erica I mean." Rick said. "I know it feels like it's too soon. That doesn't make it any less necessary to approach you about this. Because more worlds are being taken with each passing day. If there was ever a time for such an important decision to be made, its's now. What do you say, D?"

Duncan took another heavy breath and exhaled slowly. "Tell me something first. Why'd you join up?"

"Me?"

"Yeah."

Rick thought it over as he pulled them off the highway and into a cluster of high-rise apartments. "I did it because I had asked myself two questions and had the balls to answer them both."

"What were they?"

"It's something you'll have to answer for yourself when you go out there. The first…is that you'll have to decide if we're really worth saving."

Now his uncle could feel him staring at him. He had his full, undivided attention. "The second." He brought the Warthog to a stop and pulled in along a sidewalk. "Well, the second question will reveal itself by the way you answer the first."

"Sounds like a copout, Uncs." Duncan said. "Weren't you just calling me out earlier for doing something similar?"

Rick ignored him and pointed behind his nephew. "We're here."

Duncan winced. He hadn't even noticed that they had already pulled up at his apartment building. He spotted the yellow Kabord parked a few vehicles ahead that proved Erica was already home. She had probably taken the more direct route.

Duncan threw his legs out the passenger section and swung down to the sidewalk.

"Take some time, D. Think about it." Rick said.

Duncan gave him a curt nod. "We'll see what happens."

He watched his uncle pull off and disappear around the corner. He had made sure to hide it well, but that conversation had shaken him, because while he always suppressed that voice that told him he could do more, he couldn't do the same with his uncle. In less than a few minutes he had poked holes through all of his excuses, even the ones he hadn't brought up directly. It showed him just how flimsy they really were. Using them for years like he did was able to work solely because he was too afraid to think any different.

Every excuse was gone. Every argument made null and void. Nothing was stopping him from going and everything in him was screaming that he should go.

Then one thought reminded him that he still had one good reason to stay. He turned back up to his apartment. He felt heavy with each step he took as he headed for the front doors.

:********:

Erica dipped her hands into the basin and washed off her face with the water streaming out of the faucet. When she finished, she pressed the touch-display on the faucet and it shut off. Her hands clung warily to her face. She managed the strength to pry them apart and look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She looked fine. She felt sick. It wasn't because of the most recent funeral for her mother-in-law. In the back of her mind she had already accepted that Lian would pass on and fairly soon. She hadn't been wrong in that but tried to help Duncan with her the best she could and to support him when it ultimately happened.

If it wasn't the funeral then what was it? Her mind flitted to Rick's arrival and his request to talk to Duncan. Immediately she felt her stomach tighten. She felt ready to throw up but placed her hands on her abdomen to steady herself.

She gave a long sigh. That was half of it, fear. Fear that this may be the day that Rick finally managed to break through to the part of her husband that she knew was always there. Moreover, she feared that she would lose him for good to the war raging amongst the stars if he finally changed his mind.

Then there was nervousness.

Her attention flitted to the pregnancy test resting on the bathroom table. The slide in the middle showed positive. That was another reason to worry.

Erica had known Duncan since they were kids. They had both gone to the same elementary, middle and high school together. They were always a part of each other's lives. At first, they had just been childhood friends. To her he always seemed to be "on a mission" for lack of a better phrase. Even in the games he played with her he was always the overly determined type. She had found that to be one of his most endearing traits. That endearing trait turned into something else, however, once they entered high school. They had both started seeing each other differently then.

From childhood friends to high-school lovers, they had gotten married a few years after. He had supported her while she went off to university and he to the Marine Reserves. Then they came back together after her graduation. Today, something more was in store for them, and only one of them was currently aware of it. And, depending on what her husband had to say to her once he got back, it may very well stay that way for some time.

Erica dried her face, wrapped the pregnancy test in a napkin and hid it away in her pocket. She gave a sharp exhale then walked out into the rest of their apartment where there were pictures everywhere, chronicling their lives together. She settled in the living room couch and never got the chance to close her eyes as the front door opened.

A second later Duncan walked in. His face suggested that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Coincidence?

"Hey hun." She said, doing her best to disguise the nervousness in her voice. "How'd it go?"

Duncan seemed tired as he did a U-turn and walked towards the couch. He threw himself into the unoccupied half of the couch and sank into the pillows.

"Rick's as relentless as always." He sighed.

Erica nodded, reaching for a glass of water and handing it to him. "I can see that. It looks like he really drilled you this time."

Duncan knocked back half the glass before resting it on the table. "He really did." His gaze began to focus on the carpeted floor near Erica's feet. His eyes looked heavy. She could tell he was struggling with something.

"Hey babe…what if, um…what if I went away…for a while?"

Erica cocked her head at him. "You mean on a vacation or something?"

"No-no-no. I mean, on a job." His eyes were coming closer to hers but not exactly past her shoulder. "Like, if my company is pulled out from the reserves to serve as reinforcements for some frontline regiment. I mean it happens all the time, and you can't ever predict when the axe will fall."

She hated that analogy for more reasons than one. Though she forced herself to look outwardly calm and confused, inside she was falling apart. She knew exactly where this conversation was going. Her heart was beating fast. Rick had actually managed to pull it off this time. He'd reached Duncan. The funeral had probably done the job of knocking something loose inside of him that had kept his ears closed to what his uncle had to say.

"Erica?"

She snapped back to reality. Duncan was looking at her, visibly worried. "You're looking a little pale. Need some water?"

"No, I'm-, I'm good."

The tension in the air was rising. They could both feel it.

Duncan leaned forward and folded his hands, his brow creased. There was no point skirting around it anymore so he let it out.

"I'm thinking about joining the ODSTs."

To both their surprise, the heaviness in the room dispelled rather than intensify like they expected. It took a moment for them to realize that they had long since accepted this as an inevitability.

Erica still found her mouth feeling dry at the announcement. "I know."

"You do?" This time Duncan fully met her eyes with his own.

Erica gave a light laugh. She took the glass of water from the table and finished it. "It's not that hard to believe. You've wanted to do it for years, haven't you?"

Duncan blushed. "Well, yeah. That doesn't mean that I should." He wasn't expecting her to suddenly lay her head against his chest like she did without warning. She could hear his heartbeat, and it eased her somewhat.

"It means that you want to."

"Is that what I really want?"

Erica raised a half-sarcastic brow at him. "I've been trying to figure that out for the better part of a few years myself. I think we both know you were in denial."

"Maybe." Duncan huffed.

"I'd be lying to you if I told you that I wasn't just as much in denial about it as you were though." Duncan arched his own inquisitive brow down at her.

"What do you mean?"

Erica got up a little and nuzzled herself into the cruck of his neck. "It's because I'm selfish. I'd rather keep you all to myself rather than risk losing you."

Duncan winced at that. He wrapped her in his arms and rested head on hers. "But you're not losing me."

Erica slowly rose up from under him and planted her hand firmly on his chest, pushing him back slightly. "Yes." She said. "I am. Duncan Iris, I want you all for myself. But more importantly, I want you to do what you've always dreamed of doing since we were kids. I'm tired of watching you debate this in your head, and I'm not about to serve as your excuse to stay here either."

"What are you saying exactly?"

Erica inched up to his face until their foreheads touched.

"Go."

There it was. "I'll still be here when you get back. I can wait, but you've already waited long enough. Go."

Duncan swallowed the hard lump in his throat. "And if I don't come back?"

She shook her head. "Just promise me that you will, then I'll let you go."

Duncan's blue eyes stared deeply into her emerald ones. He could tell that she wasn't kidding, she wasn't backing down either. Neither was he. He willed the words out: "I promise. And I'll keep that promise."

Erica's eyes briefly widened then relaxed. A satisfied smile graced her face. "I know you will."

Like gravity they seemed to pull the other in closer until their lips finally met. They kissed, enjoying the closeness of the other, savoring their very presence, something that they knew would no longer be a constant in their lives. That fact didn't deny them the heaven they felt now. Right then, in that moment at least, they were together and no one could separate them. No one except themselves.

After a minute they pulled away. Erica lay her head back down on Duncan's chest as he leaned back into the couch. She felt the fabric of her pocket stretching the form of the test device hidden inside. For Duncan's sake, she had decided that it would remain hidden. She knew that what it indicated couldn't stay that way for long. Just long enough.

Duncan used his freehand to toy with the granite rock in his own pocket. The hard and aged exterior was beginning to resemble more and more his personal resolve that had formed back when he was a child. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. He knew what needed to be done, and more importantly, that there was nothing in the way of him doing it.

Electiones - Choices


	3. Camp Ravenport - Chapter 2 (Inferos)

Chapter 2 – Inferos

August 18th, 2543 (22:05 Hours – Military Calendar)

Sol System, Earth

ODST Training Base "Camp Ravenport", Scaffel Pike Mountain, United Kingdom

3 Weeks Later:

:********:

As far as Duncan could tell, his Uncle Rick was dead wrong. Either that, or he was lying about that 'feeling damned' part, because right now he honestly believed that hell itself had to be cozier than what he had been enduring for the past 2 weeks. The mud caking his face was one thing. The gunshots shooting so close overhead that he felt the heat on the back of his neck was another. Finally, the tormenting taunts the drill instructors roared through staccato bursts of gunfire helped summarize life at Camp Ravenport.

To Duncan's left, dozens of fellow recruits were crawling in several columns through muddy earth beneath lanes of barbed wire. The chill night air was full of the collective grunts and groans of men and women pushing past their limits just to reach the end of the course. Staying alive after that was an unguaranteed bonus.

There was a three-round burst immediately to Duncan's right and a fresh spray of mud plastered his face. He didn't even wince. He glanced at the smoking bullet holes in the muck just a few inches from his hands.

"Hey Iris, what're you stopping for!?"

Another three-round burst in the same spot sent Duncan clawing up his lane with renewed vigor. All the while the vein-faced drill instructor remained right beside him. He kept firing his M7 Submachine Gun into the ground close to the line of recruits. At the same time, he exclaimed one eloquent line after another explaining what he would have done had he met their parents with the knowledge that they would produce the human trash crawling in front of him. All of that in several different languages.

"Feltennék egy kést az Atyád szívébe, és magamért viszem az anyád! Fogadj rá!"

There goes the Hungarian again. Once Duncan and everyone in his lane heard it, they quickly doubled their efforts. It was always a bad sign when Drill Instructor Mahoney started using his native tongue in the middle of an exercise. It meant he was about to find a way to make life even more miserable for whatever woeful soul caught his eye.

It was generally accepted among ODST recruits that cultural backgrounds were a major factor in the varying degrees of drill instructors' intensity. Brazilian instructors were pains, and the Russians were just as likely to put a boot to your neck as they were to encourage you. But God help you if you got a Hungarian. Rumor had it that they specialized in making examples of recruits for the most minor misconduct. Their punishments were purposefully slow and agonizing, both physically and psychologically torturous. Duncan had no way to confirm that for himself save for the existence of the ODST Training Base in Hungary known as Camp Árpád. It had one of the most notorious reputations in Sol for virtually cranking out veterans that had yet to see actual action. Moreover, Mahoney was in the process of confirming that rumor firsthand.

Everyone on the line watched him kick out one of the support-beams for a section of the barbed wire. Without fail, the razor-wire mesh fell right on top of Duncan. It hooked into his clothes and cut into his skin. He swallowed down the cry of pain rising in his throat. Now wasn't the time. He reached for the knotted barbs and tried to disentangle himself. Only, the more he tried the more he was wrapped up and a line of ODST recruits were piling up behind him.

"Come on man! Just take that stuff off already!" The closest recruit to his rear, a burly North American named Cosmo, bellowed. His southern drawl was more pronounced thanks to the stress of the situation. "You're wasting time!"

Both men stopped at another burst just beside them. They looked up to see Mahoney standing right above them, so close that they could see the sweat mark surrounding the letters 'ODST' on his shirt, as well as the veins popping out on his face and neck.

"Come on Iris!" He shouted. "You're holding up the line!"

That was rich coming from him. Duncan was cutting his hands by then trying to get free. It merely made matters worse.

"Need some help, lad?" An Irish voice asked from beside him.

He hadn't noticed him coming until he was already next to him. His bright orange hair, though buzz-cut, made him visible in the dark. The ODST recruit named O'Reilly had been ahead of Duncan. But seeing his plight, he had crawled back to help. Though it had been knocked out of its socket, O'Reilly was able to hold up the downed support beam, thereby lifting the wire. Duncan plucked the last strands off and crawled through the opening.

"Thanks Riley."

"Don't thank me yet, Sunny Jim." O'Reilly said. He handed Duncan the beam before crawling on. "We're only halfway through. Just pray to God and the Holy Mother that 'Honey doesn't get any more bright ideas."

They could see the Hungarian Instructor walking further down the line, already busy harassing others.

Duncan held up the beam long enough for Cosmo to crawl through before handing it over. Cosmo did the same for the recruit coming behind him. It continued that way until they were all clear of it.

Unlike the other lines moving under the wire, there was a sizable gap in Duncan's line. O'Reilly managed to close it just before the woman in front of him got out at the end.

Mahoney was waiting for them. He was reloading his M7 just as O'Reilly was getting out and had already pulled the charging handle when Duncan was crawling past. The latter had just reached his hand out when a single round shot into the ground where his hand would've landed. He glanced up at Mahoney who was looking down at him with an unnerving calmness.

"Hurry it up Iris. You're holding up the line."

Duncan's eyes never left Mahoney's as he purposefully reached out to a different spot and pulled himself out from under the wire. From there he was free to run after the others. He heard another three-round burst from behind and a shriek from Cosmo but didn't bother looking back.

The way ahead was a further continuation of the manmade ravine cut into the upper region of Mount Scaffel Pike. While the barbed wire course was further back, what was left after that was a series of half-constructed buildings and debris-filled gravel roadways meant to simulate urban combat conditions. Other recruits were already making their way through the streets while Drill Instructors fired down from rooftops, purposefully shooting near them to keep them alert.

Duncan followed after O'Reilly in weaving through the first of the buildings. They leaped over varying debris as they headed for the other side. At the same time the characteristic belch of 7.62 Millimeter rounds more than persuaded them to keep their heads down. Cosmo managed to reach them halfway through the course. He was racing ahead when sudden explosions on either side of the street sent everyone sprawling to the ground.

"Composition 7!" O'Reilly shouted.

"They can't be serious!" Cosmo growled.

Duncan shook his head and tried to get the ringing out of his ears. The two buildings immediately to their left and right were on fire. However, it must have been a controlled explosion since there was no visible shrapnel damage.

"Dalton's been taking some of Mahoney's suggestions!" Duncan said as he struggled to get back up.

"Nah!" O'Reilly said. "Dalton's a different kind of psychopath! Wouldn't surprise me if this was his idea!"

The three recruits had been among a dozen others caught by the shockwave, one that had also been meticulously measured out so that it rung their bells and nothing more. Once the firing started again, they were the first to start running again.

They didn't stop until they were completely clear of the ruins and out of the ravine. All that remained was the drop.

The drop was a sheer cliff 40 meters down. It was split by an artificial waterfall running from a river that ran parallel to the ravine. A deep river mouth waited for them at the bottom, enough to break their falls…if they landed right.

A batch of recruits were already on the jump platform hanging over the waterfall's edge. The instructor there fired his M6 Pistol into the air. They took the signal and jumped.

Once they were gone, Duncan, O'Reilly and Cosmo rushed onto the platform. They were met with the sight of Scafell Pike's forest-carpeted southern slope below. The river beneath them branched out from where it gathered at the base of the cliff and into the foliage. About two kilometers away, the fenced perimeter and mazework of lit buildings beyond was Camp Ravenport.

Duncan braced himself. The instructor next to them gave them a malicious smile. "Your turn boys." He held up his pistol and fired. At the gunshot, they leaped off of the platform and over the edge, legs together and arms at their sides.

The drop was quick. Forty meters flashed past in less than 2 seconds. The splash down was deafening. They pierced through the water's surface and torpedoed down another 10 meters to the riverbed.

It was pitch black and unbearably cold. Duncan wasted no time pushing off from the bottom and heading towards the surface.

The day after the funeral, Duncan had called his uncle and taken him up on his offer. Rick was ready to say the least and had him fill out a few papers. Apparently, he had just gotten in under the wire since there were ODST Training Programs in Europe with one more week left of open recruitment. One thing led to another and he found himself kissing Erica goodbye before shuttling over to the UK.

He had survived two weeks of physical conditioning as part of 1st Selection. This was where the instructors did their best to crack down on everyone, weeding out the chaff among the wheat of Class 207. At current there was only a week left to do it. Performance Ejections, Drop on Requests and Medical Rollouts had whittled their numbers down from an initial 500 recruits to 273, but whoever was left was too busy trying to catch their breaths to notice who was leaving.

Duncan breached the surface and swallowed in breath after breath of fresh air. Cosmo and O'Reilly were already swimming to the riverside nearby. Duncan used the current and a few strokes to get back on dry land.

"Hustle up!" An instructor said, waiting casually at the riverside. He nodded towards the gathering of recruits a dozen feet away, all fighting to do jumping jacks. "The Head Instructor's waiting!"

Duncan staggered back to his feet and stumbled towards the procession. O'Reilly and Cosmo followed suit. They quickly melded in with the crowd and went into jumping jacks. The act was purposefully made to exhaust them thanks to their water-logged clothes. Through ragged breaths Duncan was able to spot the architect of his misery walking in front of the gathering.

"Keep it up darlings." He said. His British accented voice resonated though he was talking at base level. "No one rests until everyone's either here or I say stop."

Head Instructor Dalton strode with hands folded at his back, head held high. He was a bald man whose dome shined in the light of the single streetlamp nearby. His thick, graying beard didn't detract from the fact that his physique was able to put 90% of men half his age to shame.

Under his vigil, Class 207 willed exhausted limbs to extend and relax in endless jumping jacks. Duncan felt his legs burning with each repetition. After another five minutes, the last stragglers made it to the group. Yet at least 12 others who had gotten down to the waterfall had to be taken away with broken legs since they didn't land right. Still, Dalton let them carry on for another ten minutes until he turned to face the group. "At ease!"

Class 207 grounded to a halt.

"That's it for today. Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for some sustenance at the chow hall and some tranquil R&R at the barracks."

Sparks of hope started spreading amongst the class. Dalton's smile widened. "After we jog back that is."

Dalton watched that same hope crumble and die. Recruits gave restrained groans since no one wanted to be noticed. Even so, one stood out for all the wrong reasons. Duncan could tell it was Stanton, a recruit from Iowa. He was shaking and his face was pale.

Dalton must have noticed too and he came over to look him in the eyes. "Is there a problem Stanton?"

Stanton quickly shook his head.

"I asked you a question. I expect you to answer verbally."

Stanton was able to steady himself. He opened his mouth. Duncan wished he hadn't. Stanton fell to his hands and knees and threw up the day's lunch special all over the ground and all over the Head Instructor's boots.

Everyone froze. Stanton kept bringing it up for another 10 seconds. Dalton just stood there, unphased. When the man finished, Dalton crouched down and planted a firm hand on his shoulder. "You alright now, son?" He asked, his voice laced with a deceptive care. Stanton nodded weakly.

"Good." Dalton got back up, took off the shoes and placed them in front of him. "Because you're going to clean these boots until they're shinier than before you dumped the entire lunch menu on them. Then we're jogging back. Get to it."

The whole class watched Stanton hesitate then reach for the boots. He stopped when Dalton held up a hand.

Duncan swore he saw a smile cross the Head Instructor's face as he said: "How it got there is how it'll leave."

:********:

The jog back was long and hard, especially thanks to the recruits' heavy fatigues. The class moved along a dirt road headed down the slope of Scafell Pike. It was long enough for Duncan to forget what Stanton had just done to the Head Instructor's boots. He was pretty sure the man quit after that because he didn't see him anywhere in the lineup. It took ten minutes of running underneath the towering Beech trees before the perimeter gates of Camp Ravenport came within sight.

Military Police manned the gatehouses and watchtowers and patrolled the roads outside the fence. The five-meter tall titanium doors of the Northern gate slid apart, allowing the procession inside. Dirt roads fell away to concrete streets that gridded Camp Ravenport. Fuel Stations, Hospitals and Clinics, Commissaries, Post Offices, Shooting Ranges, Environmental Simulation Centers, full Vehicle Depots and active helipads were some of the installations that comprised Ravenport. Construction and Maintenance Personnel were bussing from place to place while MPs drove Warthogs laden with crates. D77-TC Pelican Dropships soared overhead and landed on helipads to make deliveries. The sight astounded Duncan the first time he came to Ravenport. Right now, only one part of it mattered to him.

Dalton led Class 207 until he had them stop in the central parade grounds: a field of grass amidst a concrete jungle. While everyone else was panting, the Instructors stood rock steady.

"Get some rest, 207." Dalton said. "There's one more week of 1st Selection so eat hearty. We're back to it at o'500 Hours. You're dismissed for the day."

With that the class dispersed. While some went to the barracks, almost all headed to the cafeteria. Duncan was in the initial tidal wave that broke through the doors and washed over the food stalls before receding to the tables.

Duncan found himself in the middle of an ocean of taken tables with nowhere to rest his platter of steak, mashed potatoes and carrots. A waving hand caught his attention. It was O'Reilly. He shared a table with several others and pointed to the last free seat. Duncan took him up on his offer and planted himself on it.

"Life is good, D." O'Reilly sighed through mouthfuls of grilled lambchops. "Know why that is?"

"Because we're lucky to even be alive." Duncan laughed after thinking it over for a second.

O'Reilly shook his head. "Nah, not so, fella. It's because we're almost through 1st selection. Half the class already quit. We're still here. Know what that makes us?"

"The better half." Duncan cackled, before tearing into his steak.

O'Reilly smirked. "Amen and amen."

"Wrong." A familiar, southern voice said from behind. They peered over their shoulders to see Cosmo looking at them sideways from the opposite table.

"If you ask me, you two shouldn't have even survived week one."

O'Reilly grinned. "Good thing we didn't ask you then."

Cosmo's brow twitched. "You pickin' a fight you can't win, Leprechaun?

O'Reilly shrugged. "Just pickin' that brain of yours, hick."

Cosmo glared hard at them. "You-

"Think about it." O'Reilly interrupted. "If me and Master Iris here didn't help you out then you'd still be stuck in that barbed wire."

"That ain't even half true. You saved Iris yourself."

Before O'Reilly could retort, Duncan interrupted. "Let's just agree that Mahoney was the pain that caused all that. Honestly, we have a higher chance of getting offed by that man than the Covenant at this point."

"Here-here." Another recruit said at Cosmo's table. He raised his cup of soda in a mock toast. "And here's to not licking tonight's dinner off Dalton's boots tomorrow morning."

"Here-here." A dozen other recruits raised their cups in jovial agreement. That was enough to settle things between O'Reilly and Cosmo.

"I swear," O'Reilly huffed. "If Stanton doesn't become the Patron Saint of Boots after this…" He glanced back over at Duncan and remembered something. "Hey, didn't you say yesterday you'd let me see a picture of your lady now?"

Duncan winced, remembering the deal he'd made that if O'Reilly was still around today then they'd get to see each other's partners. He swallowed the mashed potato in his mouth and surrendered over a picture of Erica from his pocket.

O'Reilly whistled, glanced at Duncan, then at the picture and finally back at Duncan. "What does she see in you?"

Duncan snatched the picture away and slid it back into his pocket. The Irishman simply laughed.

"Ha-ha, real funny." Duncan said. "Now where's yours?"

O'Reilly stopped laughing and held up a finger for him to wait as he reached into his pocket. "I'm a man of my word Master Iris." With that he whipped out not one or two, but three pictures. He handed them over to Duncan who marveled at the lively blonde in one, the cute brunette in the other and the reserved redhead in the last one.

"You a married man, Riley?" He asked jokingly.

"I was in my head, but not in theirs." O'Reilly sighed, slumping onto the table a bit. "Sadly I'm not so good with women it seems. The blonde was a neurotic. I mustn't have been giving the poor lass enough attention because she started accusing me of playing hooky with other women. Eventually she got fed up…" He held out his left hand and pointed to the lengthy scar along the top. "Gave me this with a kitchen knife."

Duncan winced.

"The brunette." He continued. "She liked to light up, morning, noon and night. I tried telling her she was addicted but she wouldn't listen. I also tried hiding her pack from her one night. Didn't take her long to piece the mystery together." He pointed to a burn mark on his right wrist. "She used her lass cig to give me this before she left. I still have her pack though."

Duncan was feeling mildly out of his depth at this point.

"And this one." He pointed to the redhead. "Boy was she a doozie."

"I'm guessing she misunderstood you and tried putting a knife to your throat?" Duncan asked with all sarcasm.

"No." O'Reilly assured. "That was her Uncle. We just weren't working out so I dumped her. She wasn't too happy about it. As it turned out, her uncle was a gangbanger and she called in a favor." This time he traced his finger along a long scar running the length of his left arm. "I think you can fill in the blanks from there."

Duncan gave a long exhale. "That's, uh, that's um…how long ago was all this?"

"Last year." O'Reilly said. "I don't have pictures for all of them but if you'd like to see what the others left for me to remember them by…"

Once Duncan saw him start to take off his shirt he quickly held up his hands. "You're good pal."

O'Reilly could only laugh at that. Then he shook his head, his tone suddenly a bit more solemn. "I haven't had the best of luck in life, D, honestly. I hope maybe I can have one day what you have with Erica, ring and all. I just don't know if I'll have enough life left ahead of me to pull it off."

"Don't say that man." Duncan said, slapping him reassuringly on the shoulder. "If everything goes the way it needs to then we'll be able to hold our own out there."

O'Reilly nodded, though hesitantly. "Do you think we really have a chance? Against the likes of the Covenant?"

Duncan washed down the last of his food with some soda. "I think we might, and I'm willing to stake our chances of winning on the same chances that you'll find a girl who won't try to murder you after two months."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that, mate. In that case the Covies might as well be here."

"Come on man, aren't you supposed to be a leprechaun. They're lucky right?"

"Stereotypes, my dear boy. And they don't even exist."

"Well who knows, maybe we'll have a change of fates. It's possible even down to the last minute, right? I mean, me being here is a prime example of that."

O'Reilly chuffed at that. "Hmph, I hope you're right."

"I hope I'm right too." Duncan said and held up his cup. "Cheers?"

O'Reilly did the same.

"To survival." Duncan said.

"To finding the right girl." O'Reilly exclaimed.

Duncan raised an eyebrow at him, curious as to what that had to do exactly with surviving. The Irishman shrugged. "Same difference."

Duncan thought it over and gave a shrug of his own before knocking his cup against O'Reilly's.

"Cheers."

Inferos - Hell


	4. Camp Ravenport - Chapter 3 (Secretorum Fidelium)

Chapter 3 –Secretorum Fidelium (Secrets of the faithful)

September 8th, 2543 (12:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

Sol System, Earth

ODST Training Base "Camp Ravenport", Scaffel Pike Mountain, United Kingdom

:********:

Duncan quickly learned that 2nd Selection was a different type of torment than 1st Selection. While the first was a repetitive pattern of physical exhaustion, 2nd Selection was almost entirely mental.

On the first night of 2nd selection, the barracks had been silent when the instructors struck. Class 207 found themselves being thrown from their beds and rounded up. They were forced to sit through lessons on squad-tactics.

Unexpected exercises suddenly became the norm. The recruits could expect weapon's training at dawn, EOD Basics in the evening, then midnight lessons in asymmetrical warfare. It was believed that they were being prepared for real-world combat. Out on the frontlines, an attack could come at any moment and they had to be alert. Others argued that the instructors simply enjoyed torturing them. It was easier to hold both views as true.

Duncan had noticed the change in atmosphere in the barracks after the first week of 2nd selection. Unlike before, there were no foolhardy conversations from bunk to bunk or card games. Only silence. Everyone slept the moment they hit their bunks but were ready to spring into their fatigues at the first sound of the door.

Today the remaining 227 recruits were on Scafell Pike's southern face. They dawned their ODST training gear, the actual Shock Trooper BDU lacking some of the more notable functionalities like the TAC Map.

They were handed MA37 Assault Rifles loaded with Tactical Training Rounds. The plastic polymer rounds contained proximity fuses that dissolved the shells when they came within 10 centimeters of a surface, releasing red paint that locked down armor and dished out a paralyzing anesthetic.

The class were organized into their usual fireteams. Two fireteams each would comprise Red and Blue Teams. Both sides would battle in a round of Capture the Flag.

The arena was a square kilometer area within a valley on Scafell Pike's Southern Face. It was divided in two by the River Esk. Red Team would start on the northern side and Blue Team on the south.

Throughout the early morning, Duncan and the rest of Fireteam Charlie watched rounds of Capture the Flag from an upper observation deck. Red Teams won for the most part with a few scattered victories by their azure counterparts.

Then it was Fireteam Charlie's turn, and as luck would have it, they would be Blue Team. What added to a sense of impending doom was the fact Charlie Team's leader was none other than Cosmo. He was alright in other team exercises but he was more hard-pressed to adapt to new situations. Capture the Flag was one such scenario.

Fireteams Charlie and Lima would form Blue Team and would go against Fireteams Foxtrot and X-Ray as Red Team: 8 on either side and 16 in total.

The round had started half an hour ago. So far no one had made any moves.

Duncan crouched-walked to a birch tree and swiveled around the bark. His targeting reticle swept across the low-lying shrubs and trees as far as 50 meters. There was nothing.

"Anything, Iris?" Cosmo called in on the comms.

"Northeast is clear." He replied.

"Northwest is also in the green." O'Reilly added with a hint of irritation.

Blue Team's territory was still clear, meaning Red Team had yet to advance over the river whose edge was within their sights. Cosmo and the leader of Lima had agreed that Charlie would go on the offensive while the latter guarded the flag. But Cosmo was yet to even lead them across the Esk saying they needed to ambush Red Team's vanguard. It was a sound strategy. The only thing to dislike about it was the waiting.

"Maybe they're waiting for us just like we are." Stanton chimed in. "We might as well go or no one's gonna make a move."

Despite what Duncan had thought that night a month ago, Stanton had actually survived his encounter with Dalton. While the others wouldn't let him live it down, there was little he could do but ignore his own claim to fame and press on.

"No." Cosmo replied. "They'll advance. Iris, O'Reilly, you have the furthest post. You'll have to fall back if they come in force."

"But they're not 'in force' are they?" O'Reilly said. "In fact, they're not even he-"

"Tracking something." Duncan interrupted, spotting movement in a distant shrub.

"How far out Iris?" Cosmo asked.

Duncan focused his MA37 on it to follow. "40 meters and closing."

"I've got movement too." O'Reilly stated. "30 meters out."

Gunfire suddenly erupted in staccato bursts that echoed through the forest, causing Duncan to flinch. But there were no signs of TTR rounds hitting his position.

"Contact!" Cosmo shouted. "We've got a Hog bearing down on mine and Stanton's position!"

Duncan barely had time to react as figures emerged from the forest meters in front of him and opened fire. He threw himself back behind his cover as the training rounds crackled against the tough bark. "Secondary contacts! Two of'em!"

He snapped out to squeeze off several three-round bursts in the direction of the shooting. He fell back at return fire that exploded above the tree bark and coated it in thick red polymer.

Duncan could overhear firing on O'Reilly's comm. "Eejits! Red light on the Northwest. I've got a Binary pushing on my position!"

"Rendezvous at the den!" Cosmo said. "We'll hold them there!"

Duncan nodded. "Solid copy." He pulled out a Frag-grenade from his tactical vest, pulled the pin and tossed the grenade high behind him before bolting from his cover. He heard the grenade land on the ground followed by a thunderous WHAM. The explosion of red polymer shattered branches and covered anything within range.

He sprinted past the trees and burst through the shrubs, heading 70 meters southward. He came to an asphalt road that cut through the forest and started running across. The sound of engines caught his attention. He spotted the vehicle coming towards him. As if to confirm they weren't friendly, the gunner brought the turret to bare and opened fire. Duncan zigzagged as a stream of TTRs struck the tarmac at his feet.

He threw himself out of the way, barreled down the slight decline on the other side of the road and slid to his feet at the bottom. Then he was back to running.

"That must've been the Hog Cosmo was talking about." Duncan thought aloud. "Which means…" He switched to his comm.

"Is everyone at the rendezvous already?"

"Yah." O'Reilly answered. "So, hurry it up would you? We'd rather not risk a crossfire."

"On my way."

Duncan swerved around trees while stopping occasionally to make sure he wasn't being followed.

Soon the end goal came within sight: a hole in the ground. It was an old wolf's den a dozen meters north of Blue Team's Flagpole. A fallen beech tree right on the lip protected against frontal attacks while the circular rim could be used to similar effect on the sides. O'Reilly manned the eastern flank. Cosmo and Stanton were already behind the tree, weapons up. Duncan slid down the inside of the den to safety.

"Present."

"Hold tight." Cosmo said. "Lima's sending up reinforcements."

"Aren't they using our Hog to defend the flag?" Stanton asked. "We could really use that right about now."

O'Reilly laughed. "Stanton's got the right idea. I'd rather not take a face load of TTR from that turret."

"No time." Cosmo muttered. Aiming down his sites, he spotted the enemy Hog racing down the dirt road towards them. "Red Team's already here. Heads down, mouths shut and guns up."

O'Reilly sighed over comms. "Sure thing, ma'am."

The first shots rang out from the sides and hit the rim of the wolf's den where Duncan was. He could see the muzzle flashes coming from the tree line 10 meters away, as well as the 2 blue visors hiding in the shadows of distant oaks. He aimed his rifle and gave Red Team the same courtesy.

On the other side, O'Reilly sprayed the forest in wide sweeps, keeping the two other Reds pinned behind a boulder 15 meters away.

But the distance was quickly closing between the den and Red Team's Warthog. At 10 meters it skidded to a halt. The driver hopped behind it while the gunner raked their position with fierce suppressing fire.

Cosmo and Stanton took turns peeking out and trading shots but were forced to mostly stay down.

Duncan's assault rifle clacked empty. He ducked to avoid a burst zipping overhead and reloaded. "Where's that backup!?"

As if to answer his question, the two reinforcements from Lima arrived at a boulder near the den and exchanged fire with the enemy in the bushes. That helped alleviate the pressure on Fireteam Charlie, enough to merit the Warthog's attention. The gunner swiveled the hulking turret towards them but Cosmo took the opening and shot the man in the leg.

The gunner grunted but didn't fall. Another shot from Stanton knocked his legs out from under him and he fell behind the vehicle.

"The Hog's out!" Cosmo said and linked himself to Blue Team's comms so everyone could hear him.

"Lima 1, you copy?"

A female voice answered. "Go ahead Charlie 1."

"We've got Red Team's Hog pinned and they've committed most of their guys to the den. That means we have a window to capture their flag. I'm volunteering two of my guys but I'll need the two you sent me to take their place."

A brief silence later, Lima 1 replied: "That's not a bad deal Charlie, the best we have at any rate. My guys will move in on your signal."

Cosmo peered over his shoulder. "Iris, O'Reilly, you're our bagmen. We'll cover you. Hightail it further south ten hook around the fight to head for their flag. Lima-1, we'll need you running evac them with the Warthog in approximately 10 minutes." Cosmo uploaded a timer to Blue Team's heads up displays.

"Understood." Lima 1 said.

"Ready to leave on your go." Duncan quipped.

Cosmo nodded. "On my mark we give Lima covering fire. Three…two…mark!"

Charlie team rose from their cover and peppered the two enemy positions and the Warthog with a hail of TTR. The two from Lima ran over and slid into the den. They shuffled over until they were next to Duncan and O'Reilly.

"Alright." Cosmo said. "Again. Three…two…mar-"

A storm of return fire cut him off. The two flanking groups were pouring it on in retribution for the earlier suppression fire.

"Switch to grenades!" Cosmo said, pulling the pin on a frag and tossing it. Duncan and O'Reilly tossed two more over into the nearby forests. Three explosions thumped the Earth. The firing stopped.

"Go!" Cosmo shouted.

Immediately Duncan and O'Reilly crawled out of the den and ran for a boulder. They threw themselves behind it just as rifle fire spattered against the other side.

O'Reilly knocked his comrade on the shoulder and nodded toward the dirt road in front of them. "Lassies first."

:********:

The firefight continued to echo far behind them as Duncan and O'Reilly reached the River Esk. The river itself had at least 6 feet of grayish water running through. Further down the banks they spotted a wooden bridge linking the two sides, likely the same one Lima 1 would use for evac. Thankfully, there was a loose collection of rocks nearby sticking through the surface and forming a line of handholds to the other side.

"Hope you brought your trunks, Sunny Jim." O'Reilly said as he started wading into the water.

"No, just a 50-pound suit of armor." Duncan sighed and followed him in.

"Same difference."

The two clipped their rifles to the magnetic harnesses on their backs and started swimming from rock to rock, finding handholds in the slippery crags. Despite the current's constant push, they were able to grab their way to the adjacent bank.

They headed further north, Duncan on point and O'Reilly covering the rear. It was another 100 meters before they reached the flag so sprinted. There were two more Red Team members out there. Chances were high that they were waiting for them.

Soon, the two found it. Red Team's Flag stood in the center of a small meadow. The main problem was that it was hemmed in on all sides by oak trees; good cover combined with a perfect field of fire.

Duncan scanned around but couldn't spot any movement amongst the trees. Then movement above caught his eye. He squinted up to see O'Reilly slithering up the tree with ease. He perched himself on a branch and gave the thumbs up.

"I'll cover you from here."

"You really think I'm going out there huh?" Duncan asked.

"You really think we have enough time for me to climb back down in your place?"

"Fair enough." Duncan shrugged. He got onto his stomach and crawled through the knee-high grass. He thumbed his helmet seal, pulled it off and slowly held it up, turning it from one direction to the next.

Seconds past. At five, a burst of rifle fire pierced the silence and slammed against the visor in a bright red mist. Duncan lowered the helmet, examined the visor and put it back on to call in. "Should be 23 degrees northeast."

"On it." O'Reilly shifted his sights to the tree-line and focused in on an unusual bulge in the shadow of an oak tree on the meadow's opposite side. "You were off by about 10 degrees my friend."

"Noted."

O'Reilly pulled the trigger and sent half a dozen rounds into the shadow. A second later, the Red Team sharpshooter toppled over and lay still. "He's down."

"Copy." Duncan replied. By then he had already crawled halfway to the flag. He still didn't want to risk standing up until he got close enough. At 2 meters, he lunged up from the ground, grabbed the flagpole and yanked it from its holding. Immediately another burst of fire buzzed overhead, forcing him back into a crouch.

"I've got him in my sights, just run for it!" O'Reilly said.

Duncan raced for the tree-line. It was hard to see out his visor thanks to the red polymer on it. He went serpentine, ducking under rounds that whizzed overhead until he reached O'Reilly's position. O'Reilly unleashed a full clip in the direction of the firing before dropping out of the tree, landing next to Duncan.

Their mission clocks read '2 minutes'.

The two dashed away, maneuvering beneath the foliage, constantly watching for pursuers.

They reached their rendezvous point at the edge of the dirt road that sloped back towards the River Esk. They arrived just in time as their Warthog drove up to meet them. The driver, Lima 1, pulled in nearby, allowing Duncan into the passenger seat while O'Reilly manned the turret.

"Good work Charlie." Lima 1 said, nodding to the flag. She hit the gas, U-turned and accelerated them back down the road.

"The rest of Red Team are being held. Our only problem from here is that their Hog pulled out…"

As she was talking, Duncan could hear the whine of anther vehicle. He wasn't sure until they pulled over a crossway and drove past Red Team's Warthog coming down the perpendicular route.

"Enemy Hog at 3 o'clock!" O'Reilly shouted, swiveling the turret to the rear and firing into the vehicle's front. Lima 1 slammed the accelerator. Red Team's hog drove in close behind. The enemy gunner peppered the back of their hog with TTR. Duncan winced, ducking at the hailstorm coming their way.

They turned on a rocky embankment and swerved back onto the main roadway. The River Esk appeared with the wooden bridge leading to the other side.

Suddenly Red Team's hog pulled ahead. Duncan ducked beneath the dashboard as a hail of turret fire assailed the front. He saw Lima 1's head whip back painfully fast. She slumped back and her hands slipped off the wheel, but her feet stayed on the gas.

Duncan swiftly grabbed the wheel with his freehand and piloted the Warthog down the road. Behind him, O'Reilly managed to score a lucky shot on the enemy driver's back. The man seized up and forced his Hog to halt. The two gunners kept exchanging fire as Duncan got some distance between them. They bounced over the bridge and bounded to the safety of the other side.

He steered them along until they reached the final intersection. Lima 1 must have sensed it as well and eased her foot off the gas. Duncan carefully turned them onto the road leading back to home base.

"I see you guys." Cosmo said over comms. "Start easing down."

Duncan and Lima 1 did so and gradually brought the Hog to a stop. When they were still, Cosmo stepped out from the trees nearby and waved them over.

Without hesitation, Duncan grabbed the flag, leaped out and jogged back into the woods with Cosmo.

Much to his relief, Blue Team's flag was still there. Stanton and the others from Lima were absent, probably dealing with Red Team.

With all his might, Duncan stabbed the red flag into the ground next to theirs.

A moment later Dalton's voice boomed across the arena. A surge of relief washed over them all at the announcement.

"Round 7 Completed. Blue Team wins."

:********:

Once the day's exercises were done, Class 207 was dismissed for the night. Duncan decided he would call Erica while he could. He wanted to surprise her. But more than anything, there was a sneaking suspicion he needed to confirm. He went to the Recreation Center and got a Communication Cubicle for himself.

He typed her number onto the display screen mounted in front of the seat. In a few seconds, the call went through and Erica's face appeared. She looked slightly tired with bags under her eyes but her expression was lively. She wore a fitted red blouse which told him she was probably about to go to work soon.

"Hey honey!"

The warmth of her smile alone brought one to his face. "Hey babe. I'm sorry it's been a bit since my last check-in. The instructors have really been cracking down on us hard."

"I bet." Erica said. Her camera was positioned up with the apartment's living room windows behind her. But it was at an angle, set to show everything just above her chest like it always was. Duncan took notice.

"Slept recently?" She asked.

Duncan shook his head. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Guess the answer's a no from us both. My excuse is long work hours."

The conversation went on that way for half an hour with the two sharing what had happened over the last week in their lives. They would share an occasional joke about the crazier elements and persons involved. But Duncan never lost sight of his goal.

Erica was laughing now, ready to keel over as she turned pink. "To think O'Reilly actually asked you something like that. He's a real character, isn't he?"

Duncan grinned. "He sure is. Him, Cosmo, Stanton, they're weirdos all of them. They can hold their own out here though."

Duncan's voice started trailing off. His attention drifted towards the bottom of the screen. Erica must have noticed because she wrapped her arms around her chest and gave an amused smile. "Looking for something Mr. Iris?" she playfully intoned.

"Yeah…" Duncan replied. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Can I see the rest of you?"

Erica's face dropped to an unamused glare. She gave a long sigh. "Well, if you're trying to get me to take my shirt off then there are more romantic ways to go about asking. Either way, I'm no exhibitionist. You know I only like to flaunt it when you're here."

"That's not what I meant."

Erica could pick up the concern laced in his voice. Similarly, Duncan could tell she was getting nervous. He finally met her eyes. "Pull the camera back. Let me see your stomach."

Erica tensed up.

She hadn't been expecting him to ask for that. Her breathing grew shallower. The color visibly drained from her face and she kept looking down.

"Babe?"

At length she gave another lengthy sigh, this one more like a concession of defeat. She faced him full on. "I knew I couldn't keep it from you for long. Just long enough."

Without another word she got up and slowly unbuttoned her shirt to reveal her bare stomach. She looked perfectly normal, toned even. Then she turned to the side, allowing Duncan to see the unusual bump in her figure. The shock faded after a few seconds as he took in the sight of the bulge.

"Looks like you put on some weight there, Mrs. Iris."

Erica gasped, rolled her eyes and shook her head, a faint smile slipping back onto her face. "Yeah, you're a real class act Duncan. Did I ever tell you that?"

"I'm sure you have." Duncan laughed. Then the laughter between them faded. A tense silence took its place.

"How many weeks along were you by the time I left?"

"…About a month." Erica admitted. "I didn't even know I was pregnant until I took the test on the day of the funeral." She sat back down. "My doctor is advising me on everything I need to do to care for myself and…the little one."

Duncan gave a hesitant nod. He didn't say much else.

Erica took in a tentative breath and licked her lips. "I-, I would've told you but-"

"But you knew I would've stayed." Duncan finished, his voice coming out harsher than he had expected.

Erica bit her lower lip and could bring herself to say nothing more. Her throat was dry as her stomach knotted itself. She ultimately had to force the words out. "I didn't want to stop you from going out there. I don't know if you can forgive me for it, but frankly, I don't care if you ever do."

Confidence blazed in her eyes and she met Duncan's gaze head on again. "I wanted to help my best friend reach his dream, even if it cost me something to do it."

Duncan remained silent, taking in everything she was saying, quietly breathing in the new reality of his life. "Its not that."

Erica winced. "What?"

Her husband leaned into his lap, hands on his head. "Its just…that means that I won't be there for the birthday. I'm a dad and I won't get to hold my own firstborn for myself for…God only knows how long or if I ever will." He glanced back up and saw that Erica was starting to cry now.

"I'm sorry." Duncan apologized. "I-"

"There's nothing to apologize for." Erica said and wiped her tears away. "You made me a promise that you would come back. It still applies. You just didn't know that you weren't making it to me alone when you did."

That hammered it home. Duncan gave a shaky breath as he rose back in his chair, his pupils glazed and mouth agape. "…I did make it didn't I? Yeah…" He slowly calmed and leaned back into his seat.

A full minute of silence passed. Then a thought crossed Duncan's mind. "Boy or girl?"

Erica shrugged. "I'm still in my first trimester so there's no way to tell. I can give you a straight answer in a few more weeks. However, I can give you this." She touched something offscreen and a picture appeared on Duncan's screen. It was a picture of an ultrasound scan. He looked closer and could make out the bulbous head and short limbs of the figure reclining in Erica's womb.

"That's the little tike, huh?"

"In the flesh. Well, soon to be."

The sight was enough to warrant another grin on Duncan's face. "Thought of any baby names yet?"

Erica perked up. "Yeah actually. I was thinking of Noelle if it's a girl."

"And if it's a boy?"

Erica stopped to consider her next words carefully. "If it was a boy…I was thinking we could name him after your Father."

Duncan thought it over. "Noah?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm open to other suggestions if you don't like it."

"No, Noah is fine. I like it."

At that, Erica's smile glowed with a renewed confidence. "I'd hoped you would."

They talked a bit more, considering their new lives as a fully fledged family. In their talks, the cold aftermath of the baby's reveal melted away and was replaced by the usual warmth between them. Both didn't realize how excited the other was to be a parent until the matter came up. While they were thinking on waiting another year, Noelle or Noah had other plans for them.

When they were finished, Duncan blew her a playful kiss goodbye before they signed off. He closed his eyes, then noticed that he had been unconsciously fumbling with the rock in his pocket. He strode out of the cubicle, his mind still swarming at the reveal.

Then the memory of his own Father's face flashed across his mind, the image that the officer's showed him and his mother.

He shook his head. "That won't be me." He swore to himself. "I'll fight and come back home." Fight. Come back home.

Secretorum Fidelium - Secrets of the Faithful


	5. Camp Ravenport - Chapter 4 (Consummavi)

Chapter 4 – Consummavi

December 10th, 2543 (15:30 Hours – Military Calendar)

Sol System, Earth

ODST Training Base "Camp Ravenport", Scaffel Pike Mountain, United Kingdom

:********:

Head Instructor Dalton watched more than two dozen camera feeds around him with rapt attention. Each screen showed the men and women of 2nd platoon seated inside their Single Occupant Exoatmospheric Insertion Vehicles. This was the fourth operational run for the day for this platoon, and he would make sure they did it right this time. This was, after all, the most critical exercise in Final Selection, if not in the entire program. It brought everything the recruits had learned into a final culmination of what was essentially an Orbital Drop Shock Troopers' bread and butter.

"Give me an update on their pods' internal temperatures."

Three assistant personnel manned several console stations around the room, each with their own screens and functionalities. "They've averaging at 38 degrees Celsius sir." One said.

Not bad. Better than last time.

"Bio signs?"

"Predominantly in the green, sir." Another answered. "No one's experiencing any hyperpyrexia symptoms either."

That was a good sign too.

"Trajectory? What are their velocities?"

The last of the three assistant personnel answered. "So far, 18 out of the 24 are still on target." He squinted at his display screen. "Looks like 4 are going to miss the drop zone entirely. The platoon's averaging out at around 120 miles per hour and 12.1psi on the pods' external sensors."

Dalton nodded. Mahoney wasn't likely to give them an easier reception than he had earlier. The three failed attempts prior had proved as much. That meant that 2nd Platoon had to get it together and fast. The consequences otherwise were severe enough to make them regret messing up their last chance for the day, and the four stragglers drifting out of the drop zone were bound to be a cause for concern.

"Raise 2nd platoon's leader on the horn for me." Dalton said.

A few moments later 2nd Platoon's leader, November 1, came in over the comms.

"November 1, care to explain why four of your men are so far out of formation?"

"Sir, Charlie 1 suggested a change in tactics after our third try went south. I'm sending him and his fireteam on a flanking maneuver."

Dalton considered it for a moment. At least that meant that they were adapting to the situation, even if the case was such that it took them getting bludgeoned a few times to figure it out. "Alright, keep the rest of your platoon together. Remember, this is your last run for the day. These results 'will' be going on the record."

"Understood sir." November 1 said. "We'll get the job done."

:********:

Noah.

Duncan's attention was directed almost entirely to that one thought. They had settled on the name two weeks ago when Erica found out for sure they were going to have a boy. Since then life for Duncan had been a series of advanced training sessions, live fire combat drills and short sleep hours. It required combining physical exhaustion of 1st Selection with the mental corkscrewing of the 2nd, and finally multiplying the performance anxiety from those two together to experience the sheer pressure cooker that was Final Selection.

Here, the goal wasn't survival. Graduation was. The 162 remaining recruits of Class 207 understood that if you had to crawl out of your grave after the last test to graduate, then so be it. They had made it too far not to become Helljumpers. That meant days spent in classrooms studying the tactics of both Insurrectionists and Covenant alongside studies of counter-tactics centering around conducting shock operations behind enemy lines. Exoatmospheric insertion training became as common as waking up in the morning and firing through cut-outs of various Covenant species were as normal as eating breakfast.

Most of the focus was on the heart of ODST life: The Human Entry Vehicles or HEVs. Maintenance, piloting, the risks involved and responses to hazardous situations within the pod were all drilled into them day and night. Duncan had committed himself to study its components and functionalities until he became just as familiar with the HEV's frame as his own body.

To add to that, he had entered one of the role specializations, having undergone the side-training with a dozen others necessary to be qualified as cryptanalysts once they graduated. Thanks to years of working with computers and military hardware beforehand, he had an easier time of it than others with less experience.

Today, months of training were about to come in handy.

"Landing in 1 minute." Cosmo said over the comms, the worry in his voice gaining Duncan's attention. He quickly realized that he had been piloting his HEV unconsciously for the better half of the entire drop. The fact he hadn't 'crashed' into anyone at least meant he was getting better with the controls.

The flames of reentry were still engulfing the pod's viewing windows and the internal temperature roasted him inside his own armor. That meant they had another twenty seconds before they deployed their drag chutes. Duncan was able to use one of the handful of monitors to look at the quickly approaching valley floor between Scafell Pike Mountain and Kirk Fell Mountain just to the North.

O'Reilly and Stanton, dressed in their BDUs, were displayed on two main monitors to his left and right.

"Sounds like you're ready to drop out Cosmo." O'Reilly said, his voice dripping with condescension.

"Not a chance Leprechaun. I'm just not about to get nailed by that sniper again, my shoulder's still sore." Cosmo admitted.

"You think he'll be on the right or the left this time?" Stanton asked.

Duncan chimed in. "I'm thinking right. I was tracking his movement patterns. He always repositions to the opposite side when they rotate."

"I'll keep that in mind. Let's hope the 340th start getting sloppy." Cosmo said. There was a smaller amount of worry in his voice that time. Duncan took it as a good sign.

"Forty seconds!" Cosmo said. "Deploy chutes!"

Duncan grabbed the release lever above his shoulder and pulled it down. Immediately his pod trembled as the chute released. His descent slowed and the reentry flames dissipated. The rest of Charlie's pods had their chutes out and were barreling down towards the surface.

"Get ready!"

Duncan closed his eyes and counted. Thirty seconds…twenty…ten. In the last several seconds the pod's automatic braking rockets activated, slowing the fall. His teeth rattled as the HEV slammed into the ground. Duncan grabbed his suppressed M7 SMG and triggered the hatch's explosive gas-bolts. The hatch blew clear off the pod and skidded away, allowing him to leap out with weapon raised.

The lush greenery of the valley floor stretched out all around him. English Oaks dominated most of the space save for an old, dry riverbed passing from east to west along the valley floor.

Duncan spotted the rest of fireteam Charlie leaping out of their pods which, like his own, were mounted on a latticework of rails spanning the outer valley. Their monitors displayed a virtual recreation of the drop zone while the pods moved along the rails to compensate for the movement. The simulation was safer than an actual Exoatmospheric insertion after all.

Duncan spotted the wide forest to the west and three buildings poking through the canopy. Cosmo placed a NAV marker on the closest. "That's our target building. We'll link up with Fireteam Lima. But keep your eyes peeled, that sniper knows we're coming."

"Yeah, I'd figure that trying to catch him twice already might make him sleep with one eye open." O'Reilly commented.

"He doesn't know we're coming from the east this time though, Rile'." Stanton pointed out. "That's gotta count for something."

"Let's find out." Cosmo said. "Charlie team, on me."

Duncan, O'Reilly and Stanton followed him in jogging along the dry riverbed. However, they stayed spread apart out of wariness for the sniper.

The comm channels were alive with chatter from the other fireteams encountering resistance. The enemy for this exercise was an unholy amalgamation of Drill Instructors and elements from the 340th ODST Combat Training Unit. Nicknamed the "Adversaries", the 340th were a UNSC Shock Trooper unit that trained other UNSC Special Forces. The Head Instructor had transferred them over from the Special Warfare Center in Seongnam, United Korea. Throughout Final Selection, they had raised hell for Class 207. They were the primary cause for why other platoons were hard-pressed to pass this exercise, and why 2nd platoon had already failed three times.

Duncan winced as the first sniper round cracked over his head and splattered TTR onto the tree behind him. He threw himself onto his stomach and peered through the leaves of the shrub serving as cover. "Sharpshooter just engaged me."

Charlie Team had entered the forest and were moving up the wash when the familiar report of an SRS-99 Anti-Matériel rifle barked in the distance. They were all on their stomachs now and scanning the way ahead.

"Iris, you hit?" Cosmo asked.

Duncan's ears still rang from the closeness of the shot and his head felt lighter than usual. He checked his armor. "No red on me, just green baby."

"Are you high right now Master Iris?" O'Reilly quipped.

"In the clouds, Riley." Duncan assured. "Been shot too many times today, the polymer's getting to me."

"Keep it sober Iris." Cosmo said. "Try to figure out where the shot came from. We've only got another five minutes to link up with Lima."

Stanton comm'd in. "I saw a Lens flare about 20 meters up on the left side of the wash when I heard the shot."

Duncan peered over his shoulder at where the round had struck the tree. "Bullet trajectory's about right. But that means he's breaking his pattern. Looks like he's mixing it up so we don't figure him out."

"Alright." Cosmo said. "Stanton, you and I will take left. Riley, Iris, flank right."

The team's acknowledgement lights winked green on their HUDs. They split up into their binaries and crawled along the labyrinths of shrubs and sparse hedgerows on either side of the dry riverbed.

Duncan and O'Reilly were less than ten meters away from their flanking position when they spotted another lens flare to their immediate front. Both threw themselves to the ground again just before a high caliber round flashed overhead.

"Team 2?" Cosmo comm'd.

Duncan brought up his SMG and aimed forward. "Looks like a second sniper."

"We'll handle this one." O'Reilly assured. You and Stanton worry about the other guy."

Cosmo growled in irritation at the situation. "Get it done."

O'Reilly bumped his friend in the shoulder. "Can you run duck duck goose with the fella for me so I can get a bead on him?"

Duncan returned the gesture and got to his feet. "Just catch him before he ducks my own goose, would you?" He got up and ran for some tree-cover farther right while O'Reilly braced himself with his DMR. Earlier in Final Selection, the Irishman had specialized for the Designated Marksmen role in the fireteam. Duncan hoped he had a good line of sight as he raced across open ground.

Halfway to the tree he stopped and swiveled around. As expected, a round whizzed a few centimeters past his back. He kept running for the trees. He slid behind the closest tree. He heard a duo of DMR shots one second then a brief pause followed by two more shots.

Duncan spotted O'Reilly emerging from cover, aiming at a shrub ten meters up. "I think he's down." To check, he put another quartet of DMR bursts into the vegetation. Seeing no movement, Duncan jogged over to join him. They walked up towards the shrub together then simultaneously sidestepped around it and aimed at the body behind.

The man dressed in camouflage ODST BDU was sprawled across the ground with several TTRs to the head and torso.

"Think he's faking it?" O'Reilly asked, kicking away the SR-96 lying beside him.

Duncan spotted the insignia patch of the 340th on the guy's shoulder and fired a three-round burst into it. "Nah."

Two successive grenade explosions made them snap their weapons back up. The detonations came from the left side of the wash. A few seconds later Cosmo comm'd in. "First sniper down. How 'bout on your end, team 2?"

"Bagged him already." Duncan said."

"Copy. Everyone on me. The target building's less than a quarter 'klick up the riverbed. Let's move."

Fireteam Charlie gathered on the opposite banks of the old wash and jogged another 100 meters up the riverbed. The target building grew closer until the high perimeter gates came into view just beneath the forest canopy.

The target building itself was a three-story concrete warehouse containing the 'Weapon of Mass Destruction' serving as the objective for this mission. The goal was to secure the WMDs stored inside each of the three warehouses on the valley floor and by extension, pass the test.

The only problem was the twelve ODST Trainers from the 340th patrolling the perimeter. They moved in fireteams of four, securing the north, south and eastern approaches to the warehouse where the rest of 2nd platoon were expected to come from.

Two more sharpshooters were stationed on the building's rooftop. They probably hadn't expected the tactical flank that was fireteam Charlie's presence in the western approach. But being cautious, they had likely maneuvered those two snipers into position to cover for the blind spot. All the same, Charlie had already been wiped out by the trainers' sharpshooters twice before so they knew to anticipate them.

"Charlie 1 to Lima 1, we are in position. Do you copy?" Cosmo called.

Lima 1 answered a heartbeat later. "I read you Charlie. Fireteam Lima is in position on the eastern approach. Once things kick off, we'll get the brunt of the attention."

"Understood. We'll take some of the heat off you and infiltrate from the west."

"Alright, you've got forty seconds Charlie. Then we move in."

"Copy, Charlie 1 out."

From what they had overheard on their comms earlier, Foxtrot and X-Ray were about to assault the codenamed Warehouse Alpha. Teams November and Delta had already secured Warehouse Gamma. That only left Warehouse Bravo. If they secured it, the entire platoon would pass. If not, the penalty for defeat would be shared with everyone else.

Cosmo pointed to O'Reilly and then to the sniper on the rooftop. He pointed Stanton towards the fence. Lastly was Duncan. He motioned to the fence and clenched his fist twice. Three acknowledgement lights winked on.

Stanton moved up with Duncan close behind while Cosmo and O'Reilly took aim on the two snipers manning the rooftop. Stanton pulled out the arm sized wire clippers from his back harness and cut a hole through the fence large enough for them to crouch through.

Duncan slipped into the perimeter first. He cleared the stretch of tarmac to either side as the others came in behind him. They quietly took cover behind several crates.

A sudden burst of gunfire to the east followed by a sporadic increase told them that the forty seconds were up. The two closest Trainer fireteams ran towards the eastern gates in response to the commotion. Once they were out of sight, O'Reilly pulled the trigger on the two snipers on the roof that had mistakenly focused on the east. Two rounds each and they both quickly collapsed.

With overwatch taken out, Fireteam Charlie dashed towards the building. They split into their binaries and rushed to the corners of the warehouse.

Duncan peeked around one and spotted the trainers taking up positions behind a shed. Further down, he saw the four members of fireteam Lima making their way under fire towards a trailer.

Duncan crouched so O'Reilly could aim over him. Their trigger fingers went to work simultaneously, unleashing a coordinated barrage of TTR fire. Two of the trainers quickly slumped to the ground, their backs plastered with crimson paint. A third got hit in the leg but turned with the fourth to face the new threat. Duncan and O'Reilly fell back behind the building at return fire. They waited until one of the trainers rounded the corner in search of them and turned his armor into a walking canvas before he could even respond. After he fell, Duncan went back to the corner, spotted the last trainer struggling to stay on his feet and finished him off with two to the head.

"Southern approach clear." Duncan said.

"Northern approach is also clear." Stanton added over comms.

"Lima just broke through on the east." Cosmo said. "Everyone, man your doors. Lima's taking the east side. Duncan, O'Reilly, you're on the south. Me and Stanton will handle the north side."

They winked their acknowledgement lights and took positions on either side of their respective doors. Duncan tied a breaching charge around the door handle, pulled the pin and braced against the wall. The charge blew a second later, sending out a small shockwave of wooden shards that showered over his armor. The door flew open from the sheer force and the two stormed inside with gun's raised.

The interior was pitch black, prompting them to turn on their helmet's VISR mode, painting every shape around them in a ghoulish green tint. The hallway ahead stretched on further into the compound. O'Reilly took point while Duncan covered the rear. They stopped at doors and carefully opened them, sweeping them clear first before stepping inside to investigate. Room after room yielded the same result: nothing.

"Weren't they all over the place last time?" Duncan asked.

"Wouldn't surprise me if Mahoney's planned something."

"Sure, could use some of that good luck of yours."

"Leprechaun's aren't real D, told you that before. Wish I was one right about now though."

While the 340th secured the perimeter, the Drill Instructors were responsible for the warehouse' interior. In each of their earlier attempts the instructors had dished out hell on them. So, where were they?

On their way towards the main storage room at the building's center, Duncan had comm'd everyone else, asking Cosmo and even Lima 1 if they found anything. So far no one had.

At the final set of doors, Duncan felt his heart beating furiously as he grabbed the nob.

"On my mark." Cosmo said. "…Mark!"

Duncan turned the nob and threw the door open. O'Reilly stepped inside with DMR raised. He expected to get wasted immediately, but nothing happened. Duncan stepped inside and walked with him along one of the catwalks spanning the length of the third level.

The room sat in abject darkness. Dozens of crates and cargo containers occupied the main floor. There was still no sign of the instructors. Even so, Duncan felt he had a decent idea where they could be hiding.

He spotted Cosmo and Stanton moving along the catwalk on the adjacent side. Three levels below, team Lima entered onto the main floor. They moved in binaries and fanned out around the containers. One by one they checked the insides and Duncan felt relief every time they cleared one. Then the fact they hadn't run into a single instructor made him more and more worried.

Fireteam Charlie headed down the stairs. While Cosmo and Stanton reached the main floor first, O'Reilly stopped without warning on the final staircase and looked up at the ceiling.

"What is it?" Duncan asked from behind.

O'Reilly didn't answer. Instead he sighted through his rifle scope at the ceiling. He pulled the rifle down to look with his visor, as if he didn't believe what he was seeing, then brought the scope back up again. He stared hard for several long seconds. His voice came as a horrified whisper.

"…No way."

"See something?" Cosmo asked over comms.

O'Reilly didn't get the chance to answer as one of the guys from Lima opened a container and received a hailstorm of TTR to the stomach for his trouble.

"CONTA-" Lima 1 was cut off by the deafening roar of several explosions high above that bathed the entire room in light. The recruits looked up and were greeted with the sight of a downpour of liquid polymer headed straight for them.

:********:

Duncan grabbed O'Reilly and pulled him back into the overhanging stairs. They toppled back as the incoming deluge rained down.

The bulk of the TTR splashed onto the main floor as well as the catwalks, coating almost everything in a thin layer of paint.

Being beneath the catwalk, Duncan and O'Reilly emerged untouched.

Duncan couldn't spot anyone from Lima. He checked the adjacent staircase and saw Cosmo and Stanton coming out from where they had taken cover.

"What was that!?" Cosmo asked.

O'Reilly answered "They lined the ceiling crossbeams with explosives! Did Lima make it!?"

A gunfight abruptly broke out on the main floor. The doors on polymer-covered containers opened, riffle muzzles peeked out and opened up on any targets they could find.

"Don't worry about us." Lima 1 replied. "I'm down a guy but the rest of my team got to cover. We've got at least four instructors down here, over."

"Head's up!" O'Reilly pointed back to the ceiling.

Above them, three silhouettes lunged from the overhead crossbeams. Ropes from their utility belts tethered them to the ceiling as they swung onto and ran along the walls. It was undoubtedly more instructors.

Duncan saw the closest instructor right above him. He ran headlong down the wall, looking the recruit visor to visor and fired his assault rifle. Duncan threw himself off the stairs, catching himself at the bottom. O'Reilly shot back but the instructor leaped to the side in anticipation, dodging the return fire. He swung away to safety while forcing the marksmen to duck under a storm of TTRs. Duncan tracked his trajectory and fired half a magazine at the pendulum-like figure. Two rounds caught the instructor in the hand and he dropped his rifle. O'Reilly seized the opportunity to rise up from cover and put two well-placed shots into the man's stomach. He visibly recoiled then quickly went limp.

"One down." Duncan said. On the other side, Cosmo and Stanton gunned down another instructor that had swung toward them. The woman in the armor seized up and stayed still.

"One down here too." Stanton sighed, taking in a breath. "That was too-"

Duncan saw the shadow before he heard the shots. It arced behind Cosmo and Stanton's position before firing down at them. Stanton cried out over comms as several Tactical Training Rounds punched him in the back. He collapsed into a heap while Cosmo returned fire at the retreating figure.

Duncan made out the red accented armor of Drill Instructor Mahoney and knew they were in trouble. Mahoney reeled himself away while pulling the triggers on the two M7s he hefted in either hand. Cosmo vaulted off the stairs to escape. He landed on his back and rolled to the side as Mahoney fired down on him.

O'Reilly fired three shots at the man that did little more than get his attention. He jumped from the adjacent side of the warehouse and swung towards them. He tossed two frag grenades down to their level. The closest bounced against a nearby crate, forcing Duncan to throw himself behind a container door. The door thankfully took the bulk of the polymer blast. He got out to look for O'Reilly, calling out to him, but could neither see nor hear from the man.

He could however see Mahoney soaring above everything.

Then he had a stroke of mad genius. Getting shot by Mahoney was almost an absolute. But the chance was there.

Duncan ran towards a particularly large container in the center of the main floor and hoisted himself on top. He spotted Mahoney as he landed against the far wall and clung to it. The Drill Instructor spotted him as well. The two stared the other down, sensing their intent to take each other out.

Mahoney made the first move by leaping away from the wall, arcing down to Duncan's position. The latter stayed low as he tracked Mahoney's flying form across the warehouse. When he got within range Duncan pulled out a frag grenade, pulled the pin and lobbed it.

As it got close to Mahoney, he took aim and fired. The burst missed. The grenade flew past and detonated harmlessly on the other side of the room, leaving Mahoney to sail onward. The instructor bathed his position with TTRs. One struck him in the leg. He grunted from the pain which quickly numbed. That part of his armor locked down and the mixture of the anesthetic affect caused him to fall on his rear.

Mahoney swung around; this time headed for the kill shot. Duncan pulled out his last grenade and pulled the pin, giving it a final, desperate throw. The frag flew through the air. Duncan took aim and fired one last burst.

It missed.

Just as the grenade was about to sail past, a precise DMR round caught it from the side. The resulting blast of red polymer enveloped Mahoney.

Duncan watched as his crimson-colored form flew overhead. His SMGs fell out of his hands. After a few seconds, his momentum ended, leaving the Drill Instructor's flaccid form to hang like a corpse on a noose in the center of the room.

Duncan stared at the belligerent human being that had tormented his life and that of many other recruits now swaying helplessly in his locked down armor. There was something cathartic about it that went beyond words.

Eventually O'Reilly appeared as he got onto the container. "Nice work, Sunny Jim." He patted Duncan on the back and worked with Cosmo to get his 'wounded' friend back on the ground. They rested him beside Stanton and another who had been utterly covered in TTR from the explosion. Both men lay limp in their armor.

The rest of fireteam Charlie and Lima had also gathered around the container.

"That's all the instructors down." Lima 1 exhaled.

Cosmo glanced back at Duncan and the others, then up at Mahoney and shook his head. He breathed a heavy sigh. "Crazy…."

That one-word summed up everyone's collective feelings about the fight. Without further procedure, O'Reilly opened the door on the container to reveal the dark, missile-sized box inside labeled 'WMD #3'.

"Want to do the honors?" O'Reilly said, nodding to Cosmo. He looked to Lima 1 and the others who all nodded to him in turn.

"…Alright."

He comm'd Headquarters. "Charlie 1 to HQ. The package in Warehouse 3 is secured."

Dalton's voice came in over the team frequency. "Well done Fireteams Charlie and Lima. You'll also be happy to know that WMDs 1 and 2 have also been secured."

A sense of elation overtook the room as Dalton paused then added: "The WMD Acquisition Exercise is completed. You've passed, 2nd platoon. Good work. Now come on home. You've got a steaming bath, gourmet chow and a one-way ticket to Nassau Station waiting for you."

Consummavi - Finished


	6. Camp Ravenport - Chapter 5 (Profectionem)

Chapter 5 - Profectionem:

December 27th, 2543 (18:41 Hours – Military Calendar)

Sol System, Earth

Orbital Defense Platform "Nassau Station", In geosynchronous orbit above the Caribbean Sea

:********:

Earth looked unimaginably different from orbit. Space offered an entirely new perspective on viewing the big blue and green globe so many called home. It all looked like an artist's masterpiece amidst a starry canvas. Duncan never had the chance to see it like this before since this was his first-time off world.

He sat on the lip of one of the large windows encircling Nassau Station's waiting room. Like himself, the 161 other graduates of Class 207 mulled about in their crisp ceremonial uniforms. A sea of white caps and pants, black jackets and boots washed around the main floor as men and women talked with friends and shared laughs over memories of training. It was a sobering sight, especially thanks to the clock mounted to the far wall displaying a countdown to the graduation ceremony. Only 1 and a half hours remained before the big show. To add to that, Unit Selection was about to take place.

But Duncan didn't care about all that. He hadn't even stayed with his team who were probably mingling with the others. Something drew him away to the window on the upper level alone. He had been staring out at the islands of the Caribbean and the tip of Florida for twenty minutes straight. It wasn't the beautiful scenery that captured him, however. Rather, it was a deep and undeniable sixth sense that told him to take in as much of the sight of Earth as he could, because he wouldn't be seeing it for a long time.

Footsteps came up behind him. In the window's faint reflection, he saw O'Reilly standing beside him looking worried.

"Are you good, lad?"

Duncan hadn't realized the face he was making until O'Reilly pointed it out. He looked tired, as if he had just fought a battle. Truth be told he had within himself. It was the final duel between what he knew he was leaving behind here and what he knew he would be heading into; one life sacrificed for another. The image of Noah in Erica's womb went through his mind again, as well as the promise made in their apartment.

Ironclad resolve won out. Duncan took a deep breath and exhaled. His frame straightened and his face glowed with a renewed confidence.

"Yeah." He said, giving his friend an honest smile. "I'm good. You?"

O'Reilly huffed with satisfaction at seeing his demeanor change. "Good to go. I can't believe Dalton had us suit up a whole four hours before the bloody ceremony. I mean, we look great but these things are tight." He tugged at his stiff collar for emphasis.

"Amen to that." Duncan sighed. He looked again through the window. "Hey, you should be able to see Ireland in about an hour from here by the way."

"Nah, I'm good." O'Reilly said vehemently.

"Why, you don't want to see your own home before you leave?"

"Remember those stories I told you back in First Selection?"

Duncan thought it over and nodded.

"Well." O'Reilly said. "All of that was in Ireland, in my hometown alone. And I'd rather not give them the faintest chance of making an attempt on my life before the Covenant do."

Duncan looked at him sideways. "Riley…we're in space."

O'Reilly laughed. "Yeah, I thought I was safe when I was far away too. But keep in mind Sunny Jim that you're always the most vulnerable where you think you're the safest. My exes taught me that one and now I'm teaching it to you."

Duncan was incredulous.

Commotion on the ground floor got their attention. Their fellow classmen started heading towards the large rectangular screen on the far wall which had recently come online.

"It's starting." O'Reilly said, swallowing hard.

As most of the class drained away, Duncan spotted Cosmo and Stanton lagging behind. The former shouted to them over the noise. "You guys comin' or what!?"

Stanton did the same. "Hurry up before we miss it!

Duncan heard the excitement in their voices and felt his own adrenaline coursing through his veins. He rushed down the stairs with O'Reilly trailing him. They joined Cosmo and Stanton on the ground floor and ran to the back of the crowd.

All eyes were on the large rectangular screen mounted just beneath the graduation countdown. It spent several seconds warming up. As it did, the collective heartbeat of Class 207 rose until no one in the room could hear anything beyond the one-two rhythm pounding in their own throats. Many classmen broke into sweats despite the chilly air condition of the room.

Then everyone went quiet at the screen's doorbell-like chime. Information appeared row by row and line by line, unfolding for a full minute before it showed the entirety of Class 207's deployment orders. The names of all 162 graduates appeared in 6 columns of 27 names each. Beside each name was the ODST Battalion they were assigned to, as well as the name, vessel classification, arrival and departure time of the ship transporting them to their new assignments.

Murmurings arose as everyone searched for their name. Excited shouts of joy rang across the room as the graduates celebrated themselves and each other at finding their information. Many fireteams cried in a mix of joy and sadness at the fact that while they were shipping out, they would no longer be together.

Cosmo found his name in the 3rd column. He was assigned to 9th Battalion.

Stanton was in the 2nd column. He was assigned to the 15th Battalion.

Duncan had been searching for his name when O'Reilly pointed out his own in the 1st column. He was assigned to the 7th Shock Troops Battalion under the 105th Division. The 7th was a veteran battalion, and one Duncan knew well. He knew it because it was his Father's unit.

Duncan had been about to congratulate him when Stanton cut him off, planting a hand on his shoulder and pointing to the board. "There you are, D." He followed his finger and spotted his name in the 5th column. He saw '10th Battalion' next to it and the UNSC Stalwart Class Light Frigate 'Achilles'. He was still excited, but not as much as he could have been. In reality he had secretly hoped to be assigned to the 7th. He had wanted to for years thanks to all the stories his Father had told him. Now what?

O'Reilly was one of the few that he had told about that, and he noticed the half-smile on his friend's face. He quickly planted a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "They'll need you in the 10th D, I'm sure of it."

Duncan nodded. Now wasn't the time to feel down, he realized. They had all managed to pass through a Special Forces training program that spent several months putting them through the closest real-world iteration of Dante's Inferno. They had made it, and he wasn't about to let anything ruin that.

"And you better sharpen up." Duncan said, turning to O'Reilly. "Because the 7th's no joke man."

"I'll keep that in mind."

They were both caught off guard as Cosmo laid his arms over their shoulders. "Alright Leprechaun, City-Boy, it looks like this is it for us." He pretended to cry and his Southern drawl came out. "I'll admit I didn't like either one of you at first. But you know what, you grew on me. We'll be partin' ways from here. I can at least take the time to say it's been an honor training with you folks, and as much an honor to graduate with you."

"Sure thing, cowboy." Duncan snickered, shrugging him off.

Stanton joined in too. "Let's make sure to stay in contact, guys. I'll have to remind you to do it yourselves since I won't be there to wipe you or give you your bottles. Oh, and most importantly, don't die if you can help it."

That earned a laugh out of all four of them.

"Sure man." Duncan said. He felt bravado rising up in his chest as he joked. "But I'm making it spectacular if I go out first."

"Feet First." O'Reilly hinted.

That brought another round of laughter from them that joined in with the chorus of mirth resounding across Class 207 and echoing through Nassau Station.

:********:

"How can you tell someone their life expectancy will drop from 70 years to 7 months with just signing a set of recruitment papers, then 7 seconds after that when somebody else pushes a button. That idea wouldn't sell too well with most aspiring Helljumpers, would it?"

Staff Sergeant Atell struggled to find an answer to the latest of the Lieutenant Colonel's moral quandaries. As usual it came only after a deep soul search on the spot.

"Well, if they can't live with the facts then they're not really Helljumper material, sir."

From where he leaned over the railings, Lieutenant Colonel Garrison peered over his shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow.

"You sure are of the crazier variety, aren't you, Staff Sergeant?"

"I'm a Shock Trooper aren't I, sir?"

"Fair enough."

The Staff noted that Garrison didn't look his age of 57. It only partially showed in the wrinkles on his strong jawed face and the white, buzz-cut hair on his head. Otherwise, his Athlenian build betrayed no sign of the wear and tear of time. That was simply how ODSTs aged, the Staff figured, and it came as a subtle relief to himself since he was already in his early 30s. That meant he might still look good in his 60s, if he made it that far anyway.

They both stood on one of the balconies overlooking the waiting room. Wearing standard UNSC issue fatigues, they didn't particularly stand out to the crowd of soon to be ODSTs celebrating below. But they hadn't wanted to stand out, merely to observe as Garrison put it.

A week earlier, the Staff had simply hoped to run the personnel acquisition run on his own with the few of his team he had brought over. He wanted to finish the job quickly, get in and get out. He had avoided this duty for as long as he could because he hated having to 'meet and greet' so many new faces. He dodged it up until the point that his platoon captain ordered him to do it this go-around.

What was unusual was that while most commissioned officers tended to leave the job to NCOs like himself, the Lieutenant Colonel was different. On a number of runs he would insist on being a bystander, explaining that he wanted to personally welcome the persons that would be working under his command.

This time, however, was different. This time Garrison seemed to be looking for someone as his eyes patiently scanned the graduates.

"We're getting 30 new ODSTs from this batch, is that right Staff?" Garrison asked.

The Staff checked his data pad, pressed the folder labeled 'C-207' and scrolled through the personnel files inside. "That's right sir."

Garrison rubbed the back of his neck. "We should be getting about a hundred more between the groups coming from the Beta Hyrdi and Alcides systems. But those numbers will be hard to parcel out between the companies, and I know I'll catch hell for it if the CO's feel slighted again."

"It's all about immediate need, isn't it, sir?" The Staff asked. "Supply and demand?"

"No." Garrison replied. "It's about predicting whose going out next for what operation, and how many they'll need to get the job done." He exhaled again. "I've been doing this since this whole thing started and I can say this much: predicting the future's never been my strong suit."

"Is it anyone's, sir?"

"You make a good point, Staff Sergeant."

Garrison stared off into the crowd for a moment then came back. "Your platoon needs at least one new trooper, isn't that right?"

"Yes sir."

Garrison looked back at him and gave a resigned smile. "Try to make this one last, would you?"

"I'll try my best, sir." The Staff replied curtly. He thought better of it, however. "I just wish I could say the same for the rest of my team."

:********:

Erica sat in one of the rows closest to the front stage within Nassau Station's main atrium. Around her, at least a thousand of the friends, family and loved ones of those in Class 207 sat waiting for the ceremony. Like herself, they had to take commercial shuttles to reach Nassau Station. While the closeness of the gathering was claustrophobia-inducing, she knew there was no helping it. She just had to put up with it until Duncan came out.

She felt someone tap her on her shoulder and turned to them. It was Rick. He had accompanied her from Chicago to attend the ceremony. While she had come in a bright yellow dress, he came in his regular recruiter's uniform. He wanted to see his nephew graduate just as badly as she did and she saw it in his eyes: a Father-like pride.

"You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

He pointed to her stomach which had visibly grown over the last few months. "What about Noah, is he being rowdy in there?"

Erica rested a hand on her abdomen and lovingly caressed it. "No, he's usually more active when there's loud noises."

"Which means you better get ready for when the class comes in." Rick chuckled under his breath.

Erica laughed too. "Yeah, I-"

She stopped when the doors at the front of the atrium opened. Over the course of several minutes, military and naval officers stepped in and began lining the front seats reserved for them. Then the Drill Instructors strode in and stood in a long line on one side of the stage. A man whose leader-like baring told her that it was the Head Instructor Duncan had told her about strode onto the platform and took the podium.

He looked out across the gathering and spoke into the microphone. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the graduation ceremony of Class 207." His British-accented voice seemed to boom even without the mike.

Erica winced at the feeling of Noah kicking on the inside. "Well he's up." She lamented.

Dalton continued. "I know you've been waiting for this moment just as long as we have. You will be excited to know that all 162 of them are ready. Ready to stand on the frontlines with their fellow soldiers. Ready to drop behind enemy lines and deal serious damage to the Covenant threat descending on humanity."

A heaviness seemed to descend on the room at the mention of the Covenant. Dalton noticed it and pressed in. "I'm not here to talk forever. I don't have the time and I doubt you good people do either. And the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers about to enter this room certainly don't, which is why they will be shipping out later today to their assigned units. Then to the war.

No one knows what lies ahead for these troopers, whether it be life or death. But today belongs to them and them alone. They have survived the worst beatings I and my Instructor staff could dish out, and I can personally promise you that they are stubborn hellcats who deserve every last bit of praise they're about to receive. Everyone, please join me in giving a warm welcome to the graduating Class 207."

At his word, reveille music played over the PA systems. Hundreds within the audience got to their feet as the doors at the front of the hall opened again. Class 207 marched through in single file, maintaining discipline even as the audience cheered them on. They filed into a section of seating reserved for them at the front and filled it row by row.

Erica and Rick were both looking for Duncan. Erica was the first to spot him and cheered his name. Rick did the same. Even though he didn't hear them, they would rather fill the room with their support than remain silent on his big day, one that was decades in the making.

There were several tables on the stage with scores of certificates on them. One by one, Head Instructor Dalton called up the graduates in alphabetical order, handing them their certificate and shaking hands in turn. With each repetition a new ODST was born.

Then it was Duncan's turn. His limbs felt shaky, his mouth dry and his head swirled, but he got out of his seat and strode onto the stage without betraying a hint of nervousness. Dalton gave him a firm handshake and handed over his certificate. "Well done, son." He said proudly. "Make us just as proud out there as you did here."

"Thank you, sir. Will do."

Now came the hard part. Duncan headed down the stage where the drill instructors were lined up. He shook their hands one after another. It was almost surreal seeing the faces that threatened to kill him if he didn't get to the end of a course suddenly cordial and wishing him well.

Duncan noticed the last person on the line long before he reached him. When he did, he shook Mahoney's hand with an equal measure of apprehension and respect. On one hand he was the second drill instructor that had most gone out of his way to make life hell for him and many others, outdone only by Dalton himself. On the other hand, he was by extension one of the most responsible for molding Duncan into who he was today. Fear and respect melded together with Mahoney.

Duncan must not have realized how long he was shaking his hand because Mahoney grasped his tighter and gave him a nefarious grin. "Hurry it up Iris. You're holding up the line."

The ODST swallowed and let the man's hand go, nodding off to him before returning to his seat.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a similar fashion. Duncan cheered for each of his teammates and others he knew. The entire thing lasted a full hour, then Dalton began the dismissal.

"Class 207, you are hereby certified as bone-crushing, neck snapping warriors sent from on high to blow away every extraterrestrial threat that ever sought to so much as spit in humanity's direction. Now, ODSTs, go and fulfill the oath you swore to Earth and all her colonies. Class 207, you are dismissed."

At those words, the entire class stood as one and threw their caps into the air. Cheers resonated across the room among the ODSTs and audience alike while caps rained down and applause thundered.

With the ceremony over, the crowds mingled with their uniformed loved ones. Cosmo and Stanton found their folks, and even O'Reilly found his. But Duncan had a harder time navigating through the large gathering to find his own.

Thankfully, they found him first. A hand rested on his shoulder and turned him around. His Uncle Rick's smiling face was a welcomed sight and the two embraced each other.

"Great job, D." Rick said, looking him over. "You remind me of myself way back in the day…as well as you know who. Congratulations."

To Duncan, the commendation was the culmination of years of hoping. Today, it wasn't a dream. It was his reality. "Thanks, Uncs. Guess I finally pulled it off."

"Hello, Private Iris." A woman's voice too familiar for words said playfully from behind him. He couldn't resist the smile that danced onto his face upon turning to see Erica, mirroring his expression. While she already looked beautiful, he was speechless at seeing her in her yellow dress that brought out her green eyes and sunray like hair. This was the first time he had seen her in almost half a year and already she had knocked him off his feet.

He felt something wash over him at seeing her growing stomach. Noah was here too; it was a family reunion as much as it was an introduction.

Duncan wasted no time embracing her, holding her close. She held onto him, feeling his warmth after so long spent apart. Duncan looked on her with loving eyes. "How do I look?"

She cocked her head to the side and examined him with a desirous gaze. "I like it."

She placed two fingers on his lapel and walked it up to his chin. "You know I happen to have a thing for men in uniform. So how does it feel being an ODST?"

Duncan's smile widened. "Something like this." He leaned in, so did she, and they kissed. They enjoyed the other, sharing in the sweet taste of years of dreaming finally fulfilled. At length they pulled away for air.

"If that's how it feels," Erica giggled. "Maybe I should be an ODST too."

"I know your dad wouldn't mind that." Duncan chided. "I guess he's still planetside?"

Erica sighed. "He wanted to attend but he was still caught up. Told me to send you his love for him."

"He told you to kiss me?" Duncan asked. "That's weird but tell him I don't mind him sending some more."

Erica chuckled and shook her head. Then as one their attention shifted to her stomach. "Want to give Noah a few words before you ship out? It'll be nice for him to hear his Father's voice close up."

Duncan nodded. They found a set of seats and Duncan leaned down to speak to his unborn child. He lightly rasped his knuckles on Erica's stomach. "Hey, guy, you better be listening up in there."

Erica rolled her eyes. "Oh boy."

"Hurry up and get out of my wife. It's not like you're paying rent or anything." He stopped to laugh with her a bit before continuing, his tone gentler this time. "…Now listen Noah, I'll be gone for a little while so I'm gonna need you to hold down the fort for me, alright trooper? When you come out here you may have to grow up fast. I may not be there every day to see the amazing thing's you'll do. But just wait for me." He rested his hand on her stomach. "I'll be home soon, okay bud?"

Erica flinched. "I-, I think he's…."

Beneath his hand, Duncan felt something move. Erica pulled the upper part of her dress up to see her bare skin. Both of them were surprised to see the imprint of a hand pushing on the inside of her. Duncan felt something shift in his own soul, a paternal connection he never knew he had. He placed his own hand against Noah's. He never knew he could smile so much as he and Erica laughed in astonishment.

The sweetness of life, Duncan thought.

"How about a picture?"

Rick was standing a few feet away with a phone in hand. The two looked at each other and nodded in agreement. "Sure."

Rick snapped off a few good photos, one of a number taking place across the room. They did silly poses and memorable ones, all of which they would use to remember this moment.

At one-point Duncan had Erica hold his certificate for him then picked her up without warning and held her in both arms, no easy feat considering she was pregnant. She quickly caught on to his idea and held up the certificate, both of them smiling as Rick took the picture. In the last one, Duncan and Erica shared one last kiss as he held her in his arms.

:********:

The UNSC Achilles would be taking off from Nassau Station in ten minutes and Duncan found himself running with his duffel bag.

Earlier in the day, he said goodbye to Erica and his Uncle as they left for Earth. He had taken some pictures with fireteam Charlie and their families. Then the whole thing was over. People were shuttling back home and most of the ODSTs had also left on earlier transports taking them to their assignments.

Duncan saw Stanton and Cosmo off as they left on separate ships.

Now it was his and O'Reilly's turn. Since the latter was leaving sooner, Duncan chose to accompany him to the terminal where the UNSC Bunker Hill was waiting. By the time they got there, the ODST Sergeant in charge of overseeing the new enlisted was calling out names.

"Guess this is it." Duncan said, holding out a hand.

"I guess it is." O'Reilly agreed and shook it. "I'll keep in touch. You take care of yourself, D."

"And you find yourself a girl, Riley."

O'Reilly arched a brow at him.

Duncan shrugged. "Same difference."

O'Reilly cackled. Then the Sergeant said his name.

"That's me." He walked backwards towards the gathering. "Who knows, D. Maybe I'll find myself a real beauty in the 7th."

"Hope she doesn't try to shoot you."

"No worries. If she doesn't try for at least 3 months then I'll know she's the one."

The two chuckled as they parted ways. Duncan watched him register with the Drill Sergeant before being allowed into the docking umbilical leading to the Bunker Hill. O'Reilly looked back one last time and raised a fist into the air. Duncan did the same. Then the Irishman was gone.

With only a few more minutes to spare for himself, Duncan double-timed it across Nassau Station.

He reached the terminal for the Achilles with just three minutes to spare. The last several graduates apparently assigned to the 10th were registering with an ODST in UNSC Regs. The man had his dark hair in a crew cut and he almost looked too gentleman like to be a Helljumper. The long scar running from his left ear, along the side of his face to his neck told him otherwise. The grim death glare that he wore suggested he really didn't want to be here.

Duncan was about to walk over when he caught sight of two others standing off near the umbilical. One was a woman, a redhead with piercing green eyes whose hair was left in shortcut bangs while the excess was tied into a ponytail at the back of her head. She was strikingly beautiful, so much so that Duncan was tempted to go back and get O'Reilly, maybe play wingman for his friend. He might've done so were it not for her tell-tale scowl that told anyone nearby to back off less they wanted to be fresh meat.

But that didn't seem to register with everyone, not for the man standing next to her. Duncan honestly thought he looked more like a teenaged high schooler. His curly hair faded along the sides and ended in an arrowhead at the base of his skull. Surprisingly, he looked sturdy enough to be an ODST. Maybe he was just baby faced. Either way he didn't look threatened by his redheaded friend at all. He was enthusiastically talking to her, but she didn't seem to care. Rather, she was staring predatorily at the new arrivals, probably sizing them up. Then she zeroed in on Duncan and her eyes narrowed.

Duncan quickly averted his gaze. He headed over to the man taking register just as he finished with the last ODST. He glanced at Duncan, then turned away.

"That's everyone. Nova, Zack, let's go." At his word, the two standing at the umbilical nodded and headed inside.

Confusion hit Duncan like a sucker punch. "Sir?"

The ODST turned back to him, looked at his pad and shook his head. "Sorry friend, that's everyone. Unless somehow you're-"

"You can let him on, Staff Sergeant."

Duncan and the Staff turned to the old but strong-looking man who had been standing on the sidelines the whole time. He walked over, eyeing Duncan like a rifleman inspecting his newest weapon. He stretched out a hand.

"Nice to meet you trooper. It seems you're in need of some help."

Duncan could tell from the air he exuded that he had to be an officer. He struggled between saluting and shaking his hand and decided to do the latter to stave off an already awkward situation.

"Yes sir. I was assigned to the 10th. They told me I was on the Achilles."

The Staff spoke up. "Sir, that's the wrong unit and the wrong ship details. No wonder he's not on our list."

"No worries." The older man assured him. He rested a hand on Duncan's shoulder and looked back to the Staff. "Can't you double check the list onboard?"

While Duncan was confused beyond belief, a look of understanding dawned on the Staff. "Yes sir."

"Good." He pointed Duncan towards the umbilical. "Come onboard son. We'll settle the problem inside."

Duncan glanced between the two men. Still confused, he decided it would be easier if he had their help, and hopefully they would manage it before the ship took off. Plus, he'd rather not get on anyone's bad side by disobeying a direct order from a superior. He followed them out of Nassau Station, through the umbilical docking tube and into a hallway on the Achilles' upper decks.

The Staff ran through the list of personnel on his data pad. After a few minutes, the search turned up empty.

"It's no good." The Staff said. "We're missing a man. But as far as I can tell, there's no Duncan Iris here. The guy we're looking for is a…James O'Reilly."

The realization clicked in Duncan's mind. "That's my friend. He just went onboard the Bunker Hill with the 7th Battalion."

The Staff's brow furrowed and he looked at the officer who was rubbing his chin contemplatively. The former refocused on Duncan, as if trying to blink away his confusion. Before he could ask the question on his mind, emergency lights went off and alarms blared rhythmically. An automated woman's voice spoke on repeat over the ship's comms. "Ship separating from external dock A. All crew and personnel please clear the corresponding terminal."

Duncan stiffened. "I've got to go, sir. I might miss my ship."

He was about to move when the officer held up a hand. "No need. You're on the right ship son."

Duncan was never able to contest what he said. He looked through a viewing window to see the umbilical retreating from the Achilles and back into Nassau Station's dock. A moment later the ship's thrusters began pushing it away. They were headed towards open space.

Duncan felt his mouth go dry and something heavy settle in his stomach. He turned back to the officer but the man was already walking off.

"Welcome to the 7th, Private." He said and continued on his way.

Another wave of confusion flooded over the young ODST. Then exhilaration. A question formed on his lips and seemed to speak of its own volition.

"…You guys…are the 7th?"

The Staff nodded.

What felt like an eternity was actually several seconds for Duncan as he tried to process the new information. Outside he could see Nassau Station and Earth's surface growing further and further away. A large, blackish blue void suddenly opened up ahead of the Achilles, the darkness of slipstream space. It swallowed the vessel whole, causing the image of his homeworld to disappear behind a curtain of darkness.

Duncan's fingers fumbled with the rock in his pocket. The words came under his breath as a childlike excitement overtook him. "I guess I made it, dad."

Then he remembered that he wasn't alone. He looked to the Staff who was staring right back at him. He seemed suspicious of him, and likely this whole situation.

Duncan knew he would have to figure out what all this meant for his assignment to the 10th, or for O'Reilly, when another question came to mind, one he realized was about to become extremely important.

The Staff didn't give him the chance to ask it however as he walked off, following in the officer's direction.

"Excuse me Staff Sergeant?" Duncan asked, running after him. "Where are we going exactly?"

Profectionem - Departure


	7. Falchion Base - Chapter 1 (Septimus annus est)

Chapter 1- Septimus annus est

January 5th, 2544 (10:25 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

In Upper Atmosphere over the Viery Territory

:********:

The Pelican bulleted through the atmosphere as part of a squadron with two others headed towards the surface of Reach. The planet itself was the hub of human intersystem expansion and the very heart of the United Nations Space Command. UNSC Fleet Command, or FLEETCOM, was responsible for ship deployment, mission structures and space operations undertaken across human-controlled space. And their headquarters just so happened to be here as well. That fact alone made Duncan feel something difficult to describe, like knowing you were descending to the throne room of giants.

In the more than weeklong journey that it took for the Achilles to arrive in system, Duncan had been at the center of suspicion on the ship, for others and himself.

Why was he here and not with the 10th? He couldn't make any sense of it. He couldn't make much sense of his newest comrades either.

Duncan and the others assigned to the 7th Battalion had gotten to know two of the ODSTs onboard and already in active service; the two he had seen on Nassau Station.

Private Second-Class Zachary Matthews, or Zack, was for all intents and purposes an attention lover. He constantly hung out with the 30 new additions to the 7th in the ship's cafeteria, telling them one interesting tale after another of missions he had gone on and things he had seen. While some were borderline unbelievable, what swung the widest across the spectrum of disbelief was the fact that he was only 19 years old and already an ODST. Duncan swore the kid was a self-effacing comedian in a past life. He found a way to make everyone laugh, whether it was at a joke he told or if he himself was the joke. It was often the latter.

While Zack was more welcoming, his comrade was his polar opposite. Specialist Szofia Novak, or Nova, appeared serious in almost everything she did. She looked closer to Duncan's age if not slightly older. She didn't bother getting to know anyone and habitually called out her teammate whenever he was lying about a story. Even though that often left him embarrassed, he always gravitated around her, constantly trying to impress or embarrass her in front of everyone else. Yet Nova seemed to regard him with the same resigned wariness one would reserve for a younger sibling busy showing off to his friends.

Duncan was mainly wary of Nova. He had heard her eastern European accent some time ago and confirmed his suspicions when he overheard her loose frustrated Hungarian at Zack once. Maybe Mahoney had given him PTSD, but he knew the reputation Hungarians had in the ODSTs. That made him even more nervous around her.

He would have to overcome that anxiety soon because as of now, he was officially on the same squad as them.

"The 105th Shock Troops Division, 7th Battalion, Bravo Company, 1st Platoon, Squad Epsilon. The Staff Sergeant had told him when he sought him for answers on where he was assigned.

"I'm honored sir. How many others are on the team?"

"Other than Zack and Nova, there are four others. I'm not going to tell you anything because I'd rather you meet them in person. That way you won't have the chance to space yourself before we get there."

Duncan sensed his sarcasm. But now that they had arrived at Reach and left the Achilles, those words were haunting him.

The Pelican jostled and the internal temperature rose as they entered the Stratosphere. Duncan and ten others from his class sat in the darkened blood tray lit only by the light coming from the reentry flames on the cockpit's window.

Staff Sergeant Atell sat next to him while Zack and Nova were on the opposite side.

At one point, Duncan wound up catching Zack's eye. The latter was staring at him, looking like he had a question to ask.

"Hey Staff?" He called over.

The Staff was half-asleep. He opened an eye.

"Wasn't our guy supposed to be Irish? I heard this guy talk. He doesn't sound like it to me."

"And how's that any of your business, Private?" The Staff asked.

"It's just that I had a few good one-liners stacked up for him. Now they're no good."

The Staff peered over at Duncan. "Iris, say something Irish."

Duncan shrugged and looked at Zack. "Don't know what you're talking about, lass." He said, doing his best O'Reilly impression. "This is how I always sound after a good days' stretch through the foothills."

Zack sat back, visibly stunned. The Staff and Nova gave each other a knowing look. The Hungarian specialist gave a soft snicker.

"Lass means 'girl'." She said. "Nice try though."

Zack blushed red with embarrassment. Then he seemed to taste some mischievous idea and clicked his fingers.

"Irish."

"What?" Duncan asked.

"Your new nickname."

Duncan arched a brow at him.

"Think about it. Just slap an 'h' on the end of your surname. You came in the place of someone Irish. You've got the accent. Not to mention you're as lucky as a Leprechaun to be joining the 7th." He said the last part in a mock Irish accent that Duncan felt would have earned him a broken nose from O'Reilly had he heard it. Zack flashed a toothy grin. "We don't just accept anyone. Only the best of the best."

"More like the best and then the rest." Nova said under her breath. Zack heard it and glowered at her.

"What do you mean 'the rest'?"

Nova stared him down, unamused.

Again, Zack's face flushed red and he looked away, brooding by himself.

"Don't mind him." The Staff told Duncan. "He's the bulk of my worries but the least of yours. And since you'll be on my squad, you have my genuine apologies for treating you so harshly back in Sol."

Duncan nervously swallowed and nodded. "I understand sir. It was a confusing situation for everyone involved."

The Staff looked off to the ceiling, deep in thought. "Not everyone."

The Pelican rattled upon entering the Troposphere.

"Personnel Acquisition gets me grumpy. You'll find I'm not so bad on most days."

Duncan mulled over what he said. He glanced at Zack and gawked when he saw that he was pretending to strange himself with his seatbelt.

"What're you implying, Private?"

Zack winced. The Staff had his eyes closed yet he seemed to sense the suggestion.

"I was just showing Irish how to use a seatbelt under emergency crash conditions, sir."

The Staff gave a subtle nod of his head. "Carry on smartly."

Zack sighed with relief. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Nova looking at him.

"You heard the Staff Sergeant." Nova said, pointing to the seatbelt. "Carry on smartly."

:********:

The squadron eased out of their reentry vectors and began a smooth flight across the morning skies of Reach. They soared over icy mountain peaks and desert valleys, headed north across the Viery Territory. The trip lasted another hour.

Duncan could tell when they had reached their destination the moment they slowed to a stop and started to descend. Mechanics whirred as the dropship's landing gear extended and touched down on the helipad.

"Let's move it ODSTs." The Staff said as he got on his feet. Everyone followed suit, taking their duffels out of the overhead netting.

The dropship's rear door opened and daylight flooded into the blood tray. Duncan had to squint as they walked down the ramp. What he saw next made him marvel.

The upper crest of a large mountain lavished in towering Douglas Firs and Cedar Trees rose in front of him. The mountain shot up another two thousand meters where a thin layer of cloud cover crowned it.

It was a part of a series of mountain ranges that rose up across the region and descended into valleys. Everything was clothed in a vesture of emerald flora whose seams were sowed together by an intravenous network of streams, rivers and lakes.

What added to his amazement was the large urbanized landscape that occupied a flattened area where the mountain plateaued. The massive assortment of buildings and structures formed a Maple Leaf-like organization. They branched out as five distinct extensions of structures before coalescing at an elevated plain. Several layers of barbed wire fencing hemmed it all in.

The entire area was aglow in the morning light.

The Pelicans had landed on the helipads of a decent sized airbase in one of the outer extensions. Looking at the others on adjacent pads, Duncan could tell they were just as overwhelmed as he was.

The Staff Sergeant turned to face the new arrivals. "Welcome to Falchion Base, the ancestral home of the 7th Orbital Drop Shock Trooper Battalion."

The statement earned more amazed looks from the gathering. "Don't mind the size. You'll have to pull your own weight if you want to make it out here. Today you'll be shown the basics. Then you're on your own."

Duncan spotted a convoy of a dozen Warthogs, troop carrier types, coming down the road towards them. They came to a stop in front of the helipads.

"Our rides are here." The Staff declared. "Let's move."

The ODSTs headed down staircases to the asphalt below. While most of the new arrivals loaded up on the closest troop carriers, there was one Hog further off to the side. The Staff urged Duncan to follow the rest of the team over to it.

There was a man in the driver's seat. He looked around Duncan's age and closer to Cosmo in physique and stature. His messy, unkempt hair somehow looked just within regulation limits. He was also resting his head on the wheel.

All the same, it was the other guy that got Duncan's attention. He sported a buzz cut with tiger stripes on either side. Like Nova, he had distinctly Slavic, high cheek bones. He was also staring right back at him and ignoring the rest of the group.

He jumped down from the Hog and stood in their way, nodding at Duncan.

"Kto novaya krov'?" That wasn't UNSC Standard English. It took Duncan a full second to realize he was speaking Russian.

"On nasha novaya krov." Nova answered, sounding tired. "Privykay, Yuriy."

The guy cocked his head at Nova, then to the Staff as if seeking confirmation. He eyed Duncan closely. "I guess…you'll do, newbie." He had a rough command of English. He stepped aside to let them pass.

The Staff walked to the passenger side of the Warthog and spotted the trooper sprawled over the wheel. "Heck, wake up, it's time to go." The man gave no response. "Nova."

Nova nodded as she reeled her hand back and slapped the driver on the hip. He quickly shot awake at the sharp sting to his backside.

His face was mostly unshaven with the shadow of sleeplessness under his eyes. He looked relaxed despite the harsh wakeup call. "Guess I clocked out for a sec." He scratched the stubble on his face and gave an apologetic smile to the Staff. "Sorry about that. Welcome back boss."

"What're you so tired for?" The Staff asked.

The man sighed explosively. "Its Deaks. He's been doing another one of his safaris. Had me chauffeuring him for almost the entire week up until earlier this morning because I lost a bet. Barely gotten any sleep."

Nova gave Atell a wary look. "What's he got in mind for the menu this time?"

"Moa." The guy said matter-of-factly. "It's they're mating season so they're active near the lakes around this time."

"I see. Say, how'd you even make it this far without passing out?"

"I don't trust Yuri piloting a ground vehicle to save my life. I drove us up once the Center told us you'd arrived. Yuri's constant shouting kept me going."

"Yeah!?" The man named Yuri yelled unnecessarily loud, his accent strong. "And I wouldn't e'en trust you wit' driving a Hornet without cra'hing it into Mount Csaba over there!"

"Inside voice, Yuri." Nova scolded.

"Why!? We're not inside!"

"I told you, use your inside voice when you're outside."

"Fine!"

Nova pressed her hand into her temples. "Tupoy."

"I heard that!"

The Staff spotted the rest of the convoy starting to leave. "Heck, troop section. Duncan, Yuri, Zack, you too. Nova, take the wheel."

Nova let the exhausted driver step out before taking his place while the Staff hopped into the passenger seat. Everyone else piled into the troop section.

Nova started up the Warthog and they joined the rear of the departing convoy. They drove along the extension, headed towards the larger amalgamation of buildings. As they went, Duncan realized that the whole thing looked less like a battalion headquarters and more like a large town. There were Ammunition Storage Facilities, Commissaries and Training Facilities, Mess Halls, Hospitals and even restaurants combined with routine fortifications placed at strategic sectors. Other warthogs and even Mongooses drove around the various streets. Squads of Marine Military Police headed to different stations. Maintenance personnel and units from other forces currently in transit went about their business. Duncan spotted a number of persons in ODST fatigues among them. The way they merged seamlessly together with other pedestrians added to the base' unusual feel.

Duncan was reminded he wasn't alone when the larger ODST beside him nudged him in the ribs. "What's your name, rookie?"

"Irish!" Zack cut in, leaning over from his seat on the opposite side. "See, we were supposed to get an Irish guy but-"

The larger man held up a finger to his lips at Zack. The latter retreated and sat back down in irritation.

"Duncan Iris." Duncan said. "Private."

The man nodded and held out a hand. "Hector Paulson. Private Second Class. Peeps call me Heck."

The two shook hands. Hector pointed around Duncan. "And that hot mess sitting next to you is-"

"I can introduce mysel' just fine." The person in question declared adamantly. Duncan turned to him. He wasn't so enthused to see the wild glare in his eyes. It unexpectedly diminished once he focused on the newbie. He gave Duncan a welcoming grin.

"Mastovich." He said. "Yuri Mastovich. Private Second Class. Both comrades and enemies know me as 'Matchstick'."

"Why's that?"

"Because he's gonna turn into one if he doesn't learn how to pilot his pod right." Hector answered.

Yuri snarled at him, all semblances of hospitality suddenly evaporating. "Yeah, I'll pilot it right on top of you! Then I'll ask whatever's lef' if I did a good job!"

"Inside voice." Nova said from the driver's seat.

Yuri simmered a little. He lightly slapped Duncan on the back. "I wish you the best of luck newbie. Hope you last longer."

"Longer?"

Duncan turned to Hector for an explanation but the man shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about it. And I'm pretty sure he's an undiagnosed bipolar so I wouldn't worry about him either."

"Hey guys." Zack said, leaning over the small wall between them again. "Should we warn him about Deaks? I mean, I know Ricky will give a good first impression but Deaks has that…" He waved his hand over his mouth "thing he does."

"Who's Deaks?" Duncan asked.

Hector and Yuri looked at each other. The former looked away towards the passing buildings while the latter laughed to himself but said nothing more.

"Come on guys." Nova insisted. "You don't need to make him out to be any stranger than he actually is."

Hector gave her a doubtful look in the rear-view mirror. "You volunteering to tell him, Nova?"

The redhead winced and suppressed a small, sardonic laugh. "Um, Staff?"

"He's a freak." The Staff put with such simplicity that it made it sound normal.

"Aren't we all freaks sir?" Nova asked.

"Indeed, you are. My freaks. But Deaks is in a class all his own." He looked into the rearview to meet Duncan's eye. "Like I said. I'd rather you meet them firsthand than take my word for it."

If Duncan was worried before, he was terrified now. He still kept it to himself. "Understood sir. Can't wait to meet him."

:********:

The convoy passed into the central area of Falchion Base. Here the buildings formed layers of semicircles around a focal point near where the hosting Mount Csaba rose up again.

At the center was The Center. It was a several-story tall structure that served as the dominant Administrative Building for the logistical coordination of the entire 7th Battalion. Architecturally it started off squarish from its wide foundations before rounding off into a domed roof.

As they circumvented it, the lead Warthog carrying the Lieutenant Colonel diverged from the column and parked outside while everyone else carried on.

They headed further in and stopped at another building. It was easily one of the largest in Falchion at over ten stories tall. There was a sign that read: 'Dante.' The ODSTs disembarked with their bags and assembled before the Staff at the front door.

"This is the Dante Building: Bravo Company's barracks. The other companies have their own buildings in other parts of Falchion. I'll help you guys get settled in. Your squad leaders will meet you in your rooms after that."

Hector and Yuri opened the doors for them, allowing them in.

The interior reminded Duncan of a hotel as they walked across the lobby. Atell worked with the front desk staff to get them their room assignments. From there they headed into the available elevators.

Duncan was taken up to the 5th floor. They came out into what was essentially an open area. There were no separative barriers, only isles and isles of bunkbeds that formed a maze on the floor and lockers that adorned the far walls. There was little if any privacy save for a large rectangular communal bathroom off to the side.

"Over here, Iris." The Staff said. He led Duncan across the room. Others were already there. Some slept or talked with teammates on their bunks. Duncan caught a few wary looks as he passed by. He followed the Staff into a particular section of bunks.

On the way he caught sight of something strange.

It was a bunk near a window with a good view of Falchion.

Tied from one end of the frame to the next were strings with teeth weaved onto them, almost like necklaces. There were hundreds of teeth and dozens of individual necklaces hanging from the top and bottom bunks. Upon closer inspection he found that there was an order to the madness. Each row of overhanging necklaces had teeth belonging purely to one particular species beaded onto them. None were discernably human.

Duncan reached out to touch one.

"I wouldn't do that, my friend." A voice said from behind. He turned and immediately found it strange that he hadn't initially seen the man sitting on the opposite bunk. He was visibly Hispanic with a caramel skin tone. His spiky hair was shorn into a low mohawk. He sat cross-legged with a bowl of cereal in hand that he looked to be enjoying until Duncan came in.

He examined the newbie from top to bottom. "You new?"

"Yeah." Duncan said and introduced himself. He held out his hand to shake. The guy took a last spoonful of cereal and put the empty bowl in his hand.

"Rico Corkeva." He said. "Private Second Class." He scrutinized Duncan who still looked perplexed at the bowl.

Rico burst into laughter. "I'm just messing with you man." He took the bowl back and actually shook his hand. "I'd welcome you to the team but I'm guessing that Staff already did."

The Staff and Zack arrived at the same time.

"Guess you met Ricky." Zack said.

"Hey, Staff, little Z, welcome back. Had a good trip?"

"If I did, do you think I'd really be back here private?" the Staff asked.

Rico shrugged. "I think so. You love us too much to go MIA."

The Staff gave an amused chuckle, something Duncan hadn't seen before.

"Looks like Deaks is back." Nova said from a nearby window. The others filtered through the bunks to join her.

Outside, a Mongoose slowed to a stop in front of the Dante Building. Two ODSTs were riding it, both dressed in ODST BDU. Surprisingly to Duncan but unsurprisingly to everyone else, there was an ostrich-like creature roped to the carriage. Its dirt covered feathers suggested they had dragged it using the Mongoose.

The trooper manning the rear laid his sniper rifle over his shoulder and took off his helmet so that his shaggy dark hair could breathe. He had brown eyes with faint dark circles under them. Duncan could tell right away that there was something off about him but he couldn't figure out what exactly.

The ODST he assumed to be Deaks nodded at the driver as he drove off with the dead bird in tow. He entered the Dante Building. A few minutes later he came out the elevator onto the 5th floor. He spotted the gathering on his way over to the bunks and met them with a delighted smile.

"Welcome back, family." He jeered. "You guys finally changed your minds about my merch, huh?"

"Want to tell me why you're this geared up for a 'Moa' Hunt?" The Staff asked, ignoring the earlier offer.

Deaks stopped in his tracks and shrugged. "I'm not the only one hunting Moa out there. They're the main prey animals for the Gúta so I've got to put safety first in case I run into one."

The Staff nodded, letting him pass to his bunk. Deaks dark eyes locked on Duncan. "Who's he?"

"The newest member of Squad Epsilon." Staff answered.

Deaks looked at him sideways. "This guy?"

Duncan started to introduce himself. Deaks cut him off. "Yeah, sure. Hey, while you're enjoying your stay here…" He pointed to the tooth-covered bunk. "Why not buy some merchandise straight from the frontlines, some souvenirs for yourself and folks back home?"

"Contraband." The Staff admitted.

"Contractual Bands of goods, sir." Deaks said with a hint of slyness. "You and the Cap' both agreed it was fine as long as I wasn't selling Covenant tech."

"More like Covenant teeth." Nova sighed, stepping into the gathering.

When she did, Duncan noticed Deaks' devious demeanor change to one of faint irritation. "Oh, hey Nova, when did you get here?"

"I always was." She said, arms folded across her chest.

"I see." He quickly ignored her, refocusing on Duncan. "So, what do you say rookie?"

Deaks gestured over to his bed and crouched down next to it. He put his rifle aside and pulled out a small container from his pocket. He slid it under the bunk to join a number of others. Deaks pointing to the necklaces in turn. "See any you like?"

Duncan considered what Nova had said. "What about Covenant teeth?"

Everyone else save the Staff and Deaks looked at Duncan as if seeing him for the first time.

"You actually want one?" Zack gasped.

Duncan nodded.

The beginning embers of respect flared in Deaks' eyes. He shifted to the other side of the bunk and pointed to each in turn. "I have Grunt Tooth necklaces for 10 Credits and Jackals' for 15. I've got several Elite ones too but those are premium items."

Duncan examined the variety of sharp animalistic canines and realized this was the closest he had come so far to encountering the enemy. Seeing their looted body parts wasn't the way he expected to go about it. He looked for one in particular.

"Got any Brute Teeth?"

A silence Duncan hadn't expected settled on the room. It came entirely from Deaks. Duncan glanced down at him and was caught off guard by the way he was glaring back at him, not threateningly, but with a modicum of blankness and suspicion. "…No." He finally answered. He reached for a sheath on his back and pulled out a large meat cleaver that looked like it had seen more action than most combat knives. The fact it was still dripping freshly drawn blood added to that affect. He pointed it at Duncan.

"But if you ever find any…you make sure to tell me…alright friend?"

The lethal intonations that laced his unnaturally calm voice sent a shiver up Duncan's spine. The Meat Cleaver did the trick as well.

"…Sure…."

Deaks caught a cold glower from the Staff. He reluctantly sheathed the cleaver. "Like I was saying, the Elite's are a premium so 40 credits."

"Sounds like a deal." Duncan said, relaxed now that the giant knife was no longer part of the negotiations.

Zack stepped in. "You sure you don't have any human teeth? Those Grunt ones look pretty sketchy."

"Who knows." Deaks turned to Zack, eyeing him like a wolf would an unsuspecting bunny. "But I am looking at a nice set of 32 pearly whites…if you're offering."

:********:

"They seem nice." Erica tried saying with a straight face. Duncan gave her a knowing look. After a few seconds, the two broke out into laughter.

After meeting all of Squad Epsilon, Duncan needed a break. He found out about the Communications Cubicles on the 10th floor and took the chance to call-in home. Thankfully, Erica was able to answer and the two were unloading everything that had happened to them in the past week. The conversation easily became one-sided since Duncan had far more to talk about.

"Well." Erica said. "Maybe it's a good thing they're that crazy. Can you imagine having to fight people like that?"

Duncan fervently shook his head. "I see your point though. It's really going to be something working along with them."

"You'll figure it out D, I know you will."

"I hope so." Duncan remembered the object in his pocket and pulled it out, splaying the necklace of Elite teeth in front of her. "I bought this from one of them by the way. Think you'd like it?"

Erica stared at him wide-eyed. "Oh honey…"

Duncan burst into another bout of laughter. "I bought it as a joke, no worries."

Erica breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't scare me like that again, please."

"Think Noah will like something like this?"

Erica shrugged. "Who knows what he'll be interested in once he gets out here. Although, I'm probably going to make soccer one of his main hobbies for obvious reasons."

The two shared another laugh. As they did, Duncan spotted Nova entering the room over the top of the cubicle. She quickly locked eyes with him.

"Hey hun, I've got to go. I'll call you later in the week okay?"

Erica was confused. "What? Already?"

"Sorry, a squad mate of mine's coming."

"There's a problem if they see me?" Erica put her hands on her hips. When she did that, Duncan knew he couldn't convince her to do otherwise with any easy arguments.

"Yeah, what is the problem?" Another voice, a Hungarian voice, said.

He froze as Nova came into the cubicle behind him. He was about to explain himself when he heard both Nova and Erica gasp, suddenly turning starry eyed.

"Erica!?"

"Sofi!?"

Confusion washed over Duncan like a tsunami as Nova grabbed his chair and pulled him aside to look at the display. When the two realized who the other was for sure, a gleeful smile formed on either side of the screen.

"Oh my God, Sofi, how've you been!? If I'd known you would be on Duncan's team, I would've sent something with him."

Nova was about to answer when she stopped. She slowly peered back at the newest addition to her squad, bewildered. His expression told her that he was still trying to grasp what was happening. She turned to Erica.

"Is he…?"

Erica nodded before flashing the silver ring on her right hand. Nova glanced back and sure enough, there was a similar one on Duncan's left. Nova pointed. "Him?"

Her blonde friend gave her another nod, causing the redhead to look between the two of them for a moment. "Why?"

Erica's smile dropped into a disapproving frown. Nova held up her hands in mock surrender. "I'm kidding-he's gorgeous-you make a cute couple-I'm happy for you." She pulled Duncan back in front of the display and pointed to Erica's stomach. "You're handiwork?"

Duncan shook his head. "It was a team effort. And can I ask how you two know each other?"

"University." Nova admitted. "I had a few classes with her back when I studied in America."

"She's one of my best friends from college." Erica proudly declared. "She helped me finish my degree with studying sessions. Hey, remember that one time we went to that café on campus and got the new waiter?"

"Remember?" Nova huffed. "I've still got the scars."

The two shared a laugh over that. They talked for a little longer while Duncan watched the entire exchange from the sidelines. To him this whole situation felt strange. With each joke they shared Nova transformed from someone he was secretly terrified of to something of a sister-in-law he never knew he had. Then Nova started wrapping up.

"Well Erica, it was good catching up but I have to take Duncan here to a little team meeting." She rested a hand on Duncan's shoulder. "But since I know now that he's your hubby, I'll keep an eye on him for you so he doesn't get into too much trouble. I'll make sure he gets back to you after all this."

"He's trouble all on his lonesome when he's ready." Erica said, laughing to herself. "I know you guys will do fine. Duncan, remember, you can trust Sofi here to watch your back, okay?"

"I'll take your word for it." He replied. "Catch you later."

Erica blew him a kiss and ended the call.

In the silence, Nova slowly rounded on Duncan. This time her expression was a bit less reserved and more open. "Guess I'm your new guardian angel now. Come on, let's go."

"Where to, Sofi?"

She rounded on him again. "Call me that a second time and I'll put three in your head and one in your groin. Only my close friends can call me that. Do you understand me private?"

The chill in her voice caught him off guard. He straightened up. "Understood."

"Good, follow me."

"Where to might I ask?"

"Like I said, a team meeting."

"…So are you really going to help me survive out here?"

Nova gave a light chuckle. "The Staff already told you: out here you'll have to pull your own weight." She gave him an amused smirk as they walked towards the exit. "Like you say, it's going to be a team effort."

Septimus annus est - Comrades


	8. Falchion Base - Chapter 2 (Imitatio)

Chapter 2: Imitatio

January 5th, 2544 (12:35 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Csaba Mountain Region, Viery Territory

:********:

When Nova told him that they were having a squad meeting, a pool party was the last thing he had been expecting. But that was essentially what this was.

Once everyone had gathered in the Dante building's lobby, the Staff lead them out of Falchion in their personal Warthogs. They headed 2 kilometers southwest from Mount Csaba until they reached their destination: a dormant Volcano.

Thankfully, any sign of its destructive visage was covered up by forest overgrowth, making it indistinguishable from the neighboring mountains.

They had driven up a few hundred meters, parked at the base and trotted up a long trail until they reached a deep, ovular ground depression. It was an ancient fissure vent sealed by cooled magma. The magma floor allowed the depression to collect rainwater overtime until it created a steaming pool that bubbled and frothed at a comfortable 38 degrees Celsius. That was what the Staff had told him at least. Duncan was still hesitant to try it out, unlike the rest of Squad Epsilon who, with bare-chests and shorts, jumped in one after another, disappearing under the water for a moment before coming back up to relax on the sides.

Duncan stood at the precipice of the vent in the pair of shorts he'd been told to bring.

Nova and Zack, the only other two yet to jump in, walked up to either side of him.

"Scared, Irish?" Zack chided from his left.

"No." Duncan said apprehensively.

"Don't worry." Nova said from his right as she gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Think of yourself as a marshmallow in a mild cup of chocolate."

"Very hot chocolate." Zack said.

"No, I don't think-" By the time Duncan realized it was a mistake to allow the two so close to him Zack had already kicked his left leg out from under him, leaving him unbalanced enough for Nova to grasp his shoulder and push him over the edge.

Duncan plunged headlong into the hot depths. Bubbles raged around him and skin bristled at the heat. He swam back up to the surface and grabbed onto the side.

When he did, he was met with jeers and cheers alike. "Work on your form, Irish." Rico called over. There was that name again.

Duncan looked back up just in time to see Nova, dressed in a two piece, dive with good form. She arrowed through the surface and came up on the opposite side. "Eight out of ten would recommend, Nova." Hector said, clapping.

A shout from up above brought everyone's attention to a nearby tree. Zack ran along its highest branch, launched himself into the air with the grace of a dove, fell 10 meters then crashed into the water with a resonant PAP.

"That," Nova said, "did not sound promising."

"He's probably a tomato by now." Hector laughed.

Zack resurfaced a few seconds later, the skin on his chest and face a bright shade of red. He appeared unphased however and looked expectantly at the others.

"…Are you okay?" Yuri asked.

Zack put on a confident smile. "Don't know what you mean Yuri ole' boy, I'm perfectly fine."

"Uhuh." Nova said. She turned to the Staff who had reclined in a small alcove.

"As for today's business." He began. "I called you all out here so we could have a more informal meeting with Mr. Irish. That way we can get to know him better, have a little heart to heart."

"You have a heart, Staff?" Deaks grinned.

"None that you know of, Deaks." He replied drily. "I thought of asking you for a spare but I figured you probably cut that out too."

"Silver Buddha only likes teeth, boss. You know that." Deaks said, his grin only widening.

"Noted. Duncan, tell us a little about yourself beyond the files. All I know is you're 24, you graduated from Ravenport and you somehow ended up getting mixed deployment orders."

Duncan felt everyone's attention rest on him. He tried figuring out what to tell them. "I'm a Cryptoanalyst sir. I did some computer work as a Marine Reserve back in my home city of Chicago. That's 'cause I was stationed as part of the groundside security team for the local Space Elevator, the Victoria, so I had to be around to help out with technical problems."

Deaks gave an impressed whistle.

The Staff nodded. "You know, Nova is our resident Combat Engineering Specialist. In terms of squad callsigns she's 'Ep-2'. Chances are you'll be working with her from time to time. Be careful though, she tends to fly off the handle if she thinks you're messing things up."

"Csak ha ez egy szörnyű munka." Nova sighed. "I only bite a little."

"I'd like to see you try." Deaks said, egging her on.

Nova growled. "I'll-"

"Corporal Corry Deaks here," Staff said, "is our squad's designated sharpshooter and unofficial orthodontist, callsign 'Ep-3'. As you've seen, he's got a thing for teeth and he's something of a government sanctioned sociopath. However, he's a crackshot with an SRS. You wouldn't want anyone else covering you from long range, I guarantee."

Duncan nodded. "What's up with the teeth thing?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to, Iris." The Staff said and carried on.

"Heck's our ground vehicle specialist, callsign 'Ep-4'. You can trust him to get you out of a tight spot in almost any mode of land transportation. Turns out he used to drive limos for high profile celebrity royalty on Tribute."

"I decided to take a vacation." Hector said, easing his head back. "The lady I was chauffeuring was too much. Bootcamp was way easier to handle. I'd take driving a burning pod through the exosphere over another air-conditioned limo with that piece of work any day."

Duncan tried to ignore just how bizarre that statement actually was and took it at face value.

"Over there is what we call a Yuri, callsign 'Ep-5'. It's our Aerial Vehicle Specialist and Squad Pitbull on occasion. You need wings in the sky, he's your man. He's had experience piloting almost every aircraft under the Air Force's roster."

"You name it, I've flown it." Yuri declared with pride.

"The only problem is his temper has a bad habit of flaring up at the worst times, and me or Nova have to reign him in."

"More like every day." Nova commented.

"Not every day." Yuri grumbled. "Why do you try make me sound so bad in front of rookie when I done no'hing wrong to nobody?"

"We're still working on his English." Nova admitted.

"Next." Staff said. "Is Rico over there, our explosive demolitions specialist, callsign 'Ep-6'. He seems nice now but he can sometimes get too serious when we're doing wet work, even for me. His temper is surprisingly non-existent though so that's a plus."

"Gave it all to Matchstick over there." Rico said, giving Yuri a thumbs up.

Zack perked up, realizing it was his time to shine. "I-"

"'Ep-7', he carries our radio."

Zack instantly deflated, earning a laugh from everyone in the pool. Even Duncan couldn't help himself. Zack looked pleadingly to Atell. "Staff." He whined. "There were better ways you could've said it."

"Like?"

"Long Range Communication's Specialist? Combat Controller?"

The Staff gave him a dismissive nod. "I'll remember that the next time we introduce Duncan to the rest of the squad. Or even better, when we finally get our CQC Expert and Medic."

Defeated, Zack retreated into the water until only above his nose remained visible. Nova swam over to his side and gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "You'll be fine."

"I don't count as CQC, sir?" Deaks asked.

"Using a butcher's knife to raid corpses that you already put a 14.5 millimeter through from half a kilometer away doesn't count as close quarters."

Deaks shrugged and said nothing else.

"As for you, Duncan, your callsign is 'Ep-8' from here on out. Looks like you'll be our Cryptoanalyst. And that's about everyone."

"Not everyone, Staff." Nova said. "What about yourself?"

He shrugged. "Not much to know. Callsign 'Ep-1'. Just your standard grunt. Like all of you, I came to save lives from the Covenant and to take just as many from them in return. Maybe even help bring a stop to all this if it's possible."

"Now that we're done with all the intros." Deaks said. He held up his hand and opened his fingers to reveal a rock. A familiar rock.

Duncan winced. It was his. "How'd you-"

"Found this rummaging through some of your stuff while you were gone. Why do you have this thing anyway?" Deaks threw it into the air and caught it perilously close to the water. Duncan's heart dropped into his throat. Without warning he swam towards Deaks at full speed. He emerged right in front of him, much to the sniper's surprise, and reached for the rock.

"Give it back!"

"Tell me why first." Deaks said, pushing him back while holding the rock away. When Duncan got too close, he tossed it over to Hector. The man inspected it for a moment then threw it to Yuri once the owner came barreling towards him. Yuri passed it to Zack and Zack to Rico. Everyone except Nova and the Staff participated in the game of hot potato with Duncan unable to stop it.

"Come on, give it back!" Duncan demanded as the rock came back to Deaks.

"Tell me why first." He repeated

Duncan stopped. "It's important, alright?"

"Why's that?" Deaks pried.

Duncan breathed out a sigh of defeat. "It was from my dad. He got it for me for my birthday as a kid."

"What's so special about some rock your dad got you? Couldn't he have given you a real present or was he just that cheap?"

Duncan's face deadpanned. "He died getting it to me so I wouldn't call it cheap."

A deafening silence overtook the pool. The venom in Duncan's voice and what it connotated was potent enough to paralyze even Deaks. The sniper's sly demeanor subtly slackened. He seemed to lose some of his playfulness. "…Um…so what'd he do exactly that he died for something like this?"

"He was an ODST." Duncan replied. "In the 7th."

All eyes were on Duncan now and he felt them staring, just like they had at his mother's funeral in Old Saint Mary's cemetery.

"He fought early in the war. I don't know the specifics, only that he was killed, but somehow he managed to mail home that same rock to me from the planet that he died on."

A flicker of empathy appeared on Deaks' face. "Where'd he-…um…. which planet was it?"

"Harvest."

Deaks stood still for a full five seconds. When he finally moved, he focused on the rock. He held it, but not like he had before. He was gentler and more cautious. He looked at the thing in his hand like a man who had just found a childhood toy long lost. Then he seemed to be looking through the rock to something else.

The sniper came back from his daze once Duncan held out his hand.

"Here." Deaks suddenly reeled the stone back, about to throw it. He saw an urgent expression rise on everyone's face and laughed, dropping it into Duncan's hand. "Kidding."

Duncan gave him a wary look before swimming back to his side of the pool.

"Sorry about throwing your stuff man." Zack apologized.

"Yeah." Rico echoed. "Lo siento."

Hector and Yuri also apologized. Duncan nodded to them in turn, shrugging off any seriousness left in the situation. The tension amongst the squad slowly evaporated and the air returned to a relaxed air.

"By the way." Nova chimed in. "On the topic of Fathers, Duncan just so happens to be one in waiting."

That got the Staff's attention. "That's true, Iris?"

"Yes sir." Duncan said. "I-"

He spotted Zack off to the side, cuddling himself and making obscene kissing noises, even giving him a wistful look. He yelped when Nova slapped him on his raw back and quickly slipped underwater to soothe the stinging sensation.

"Like I was saying, I've got a little boy on the way. Nova also happens to know my wife pretty well. Who knows? She might end up being Noah's godmother at this rate."

"Noah?" The Staff asked.

"My kid's name." Duncan said. "We named him after my dad."

Duncan saw something flare in Atell's eyes, a spark of some understanding perhaps, though he couldn't tell exactly what. It disappeared just as quickly as it came.

"I see." The NCO said.

"Speaking of babies." Rico added. He flexed one of his biceps. In doing so he allowed the tattoo of the flaming Japanese Kanji on his skin to be seen. "How long do you think Duncan has to go before he gets one of these, Staff?"

"What's that?" Duncan asked. "A tat?"

"A mark of honor." The Staff answered. "It's given to an ODST after they've more than proven their worth as a soldier. We all have one. Well, almost..." Their attention turned to Zack.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Staff." Zack said. "I've got one. It's just…private…anyway-its-time-to-go-I'm-getting-all-wrinkly." He turned away and started to climb out. Nova reached up and pulled his shorts down so that his bare backside showed.

"He told me he wants to have his done on the left one when he earns it." Nova said.

Zack panicked and dropped back into the water. When he came back up trying to fix his pants everyone was already laughing.

"How long would I have to fight to earn it?" Duncan asked.

The Staff shook his head. "It's not how long, but about how much."

"Cryptic." Deaks said.

"And what does it mean?" Duncan asked.

"By the time you get it, you'll know what it means." The Staff replied. Duncan thought on it for a good while. He hoped that it was worth it. If the responses of the other ODSTs as they showed off their tattoos was anything to go by, it undoubtedly was.

The display was interrupted however, when the Staff suddenly stood up in the water, pressing his finger to a comm-device in his ear. "Understood mam. We're on our way."

He turned to the others. "Pack it up ODSTs. We're heading back to Falchion."

:********:

Lieutenant Colonel Garrison looked over the 3-dimensional holographic display of the city projected over the table before him. The scenery of abundant skyscrapers was slowly rotating to the left thanks to the holotank projector.

He used his hand to magnify one building in particular. Its eye-catching design and position made it easy to understand why it was chosen to host what was going to be the most important event in the war since Admiral Cole's Last Stand.

If Falchion Base revolved around The Center, The Center revolved around The Coronary: the primary logistics and strategic coordination room on the top floor. Inside, several dozen Military Tech Personnel worked around the clock, issuing deployment orders to ODSTs on and around Falchion, organizing supply lifts and unit transits to and from the base, and delivering and receiving situation reports from other entities. This room effectively made Falchion a node in the comprehensive network of installations that comprised the UNSC presence on Reach.

Garrison stood on an elevated platform above the rows of console stations and virtual readout graphs. It was a cross-like platform that divided the room into its four sides: Operations, Asset Procurement, Personnel Management and Service Distribution. Though separated, they connected everyone both on and off-base, acting as the collective brain of Falchion.

"Tell me something Will." Garrison said. "Do you think Hood really intends to make an appearance at this thing?"

A separate hologram materialized itself from billions of individual bytes into a single, crisp image of a man dressed in 11th century chainmail and a Scottish Kilt. The AI known as William or 'Will' had fashioned himself after his historical counterpart, claiming everything save his last name Wallace. His thick beard and Scottish Claymore wisped about in a simulated gale that represented the millions of subroutines and micro-processes he was running simultaneously.

If the Coronary was the brain of Falchion, William was its very soul.

He was readily available to help anyone on base given the appropriate request, even the personnel in the Coronary. But the bulk of his capacities were spent primarily on working with other AI to ensure the continued information security of the greater Military Network on Reach. Since Falchion was a node in that network, it was just as much his stronghold as Callendar Wood was to his counterpart.

Beneath the Center, a basement 20 meters high by 5 meters wide contained his Riemann Matrix. All of his higher functioning processes were performed there through his code directory. It essentially was William. But for Garrison it was easier to see the projection of the rough-looking Scottish Warrior as more 'William' than some complex machine underground that he had neither the time nor patience to understand.

"Time is short, sir." William said, mirroring Garrison's thoughts as he often seemed to do on purpose. "The Admiralty needs to act swiftly and decisively if they wish to pull a win out of this one." His Scottish accent was well integrated and easily understandable.

Garrison considered it as he reexamined the city. "This is going to be a big deal. Waypoint's probably going to have coverage from wall to wall."

"You say it like it's a bad thing, sir." Wallace said.

"It's a neutral element that could be used against us." Garrison explained. "This is as much for PR as it is for the actual war effort. Morale's always been rock-bottom across the UNSC but it took a critical blow when Cole went out at Psi Serpentis. It might've sunk us for good if he hadn't taken all those ships out with him so we could at least call it a win. It took everyone else almost half a year to hear about. But if the media livestream something at this meeting that shouldn't be seen…"

"I'm still of the opinion that someone like Cole wouldn't go out so easily." William said, taking out his large sword to lean on it contemplatively. "His actions at the Battle of Theta Ursae Majoris during the Insurrection, as well as Groombridge-1830 during the present war reflect one thing: he has an unerring track record for surviving the impossible."

"He blew up a star." Garrison said bluntly. "If you want to calculate the chances that he was the first person in history to somehow survive a supernova at point-blanc range, be my guest."

"I'll take you up on those odds someday, sir." William quipped.

"I know you will. For now, let's focus less on the hypothetical and more on the tactical."

Garrison highlighted four buildings. "Army elements from the 27th and local MPs are providing security details for every building within a kilometer save for these four. They're too far out to be of any trouble but close enough to act as observation posts. Since UNICOM wants us involved, we'll have four Falcons patrolling the outer perimeter while four teams are on overwatch in these buildings."

"Understood. Who do you want on dispatch?"

Garrison thought for a moment. "Where's Harper's platoon right now?"

"Captain Harper, Sergeant Joels and Staff Sergeant Atell are currently at the RTETC with their respective squads." William squinted at something Garrison couldn't see. "They seem to be running a training exercise in the urban warfare unit with only a single ODST. Private Duncan Iris, I believe."

Garrison glanced up at the mention of the name. "Iris huh? They must be testing him out. Say Will, you've integrated the necessary paperwork for all the new arrivals from the Sol, Beta Hydri and Alcides systems, correct?"

"That's correct, sir?"

"All of them?"

William ran a cluster of background subroutine checks to confirm the paperwork had been processed in less than a microsecond. "All, sir." He answered after waiting the AI equivalent of a full day for the Lieutenant Colonel to finish the 'm' in them.

The leader of the 7th Battalion nodded. "Brief Harper's troop on the mission details. I want her and her platoon making preparations immediately after."

"Understood sir."

"And crack a window. We need some daylight in here."

Garrison walked away from the table and headed across the path separating Operations from Asset Procurement. He came to the long window strip circumventing the entire floor as the shudders pulled away. The light of afternoon filtered in, dispelling the darkness inside. It allowed Garrison to take a good look at the base and the men and women moving throughout.

It was beautiful and peaceful. He hoped that it would stay that way, but he knew well enough by now that one of those things tended to run out before the other.

:********:

Duncan pulled the trigger on his MA37, putting a three-round burst through the 'skull' of the Grunt that had tried to flank him. It was a movable cutout, but the fact he was finally using live ammunition gave this latest exercise a whole new dimension of realism. The status light above the stubby alien flashed red indicating a kill shot. The two-dimensional figure fell back, 'lifeless'.

Upon arriving at Falchion, the Staff brought Epsilon to the base' Real-Time Environmental Training Center or RTETC. First platoon's Captain had wanted to run a team training simulation to see how well Duncan could integrate with the squad. However, the Staff Sergeant had convinced her it would be better to see how Duncan fought alone to gauge his individual skill. That left the young trooper in a bit of a spot since most of his training revolved around operating with a team. Perhaps that was why the Staff had suggested it, because he understood that a team was only as strong as its individual members. For that reason, Duncan was currently stuck behind a public fountain inside a spacious courtyard with only 2 minutes left to finish the exercise.

The mission was a simple assault run; eliminate all enemy forces within the sector.

So far that wasn't going so well. Thirty seconds in to the four-minute exercise he had gotten pinned by a pair of 'Jackal Snipers' posted on the far end of the courtyard. He hadn't gotten their exact location before the two individual TTR rounds cracked overhead, forcing him to take cover.

The cutout frames baring the depictions of various Covenant Forces were stand-ins for the real deals. Gyroscopic spherical wheels gave them a free range of motion in any given direction. The computer hardware built into the frame controlled how fast they moved, often in conjunction with the known movement profiles of the hostiles they represented. The Jackals were likely stalking around the rooftops somewhere while the 3 other Grunts that were trying to converge on his position were coming towards him in a slow waddle. He heard their advance stop once he had gunned down the closest of their comrades.

Duncan risked peeking over the rim again. He spotted the Grunts standing behind some of the many plastic barricades that served as cover across the courtyard. He increased the magnification on his visor to search the several buildings bordering the yard. He scanned their rooftops until he stopped on the third. The presence of the 2 Jackals there confirmed his suspicions. The first was standing out in the open while the second remained hidden halfway behind the rooftop door.

They were waiting for him. Duncan decided he wouldn't make them wait too long since he was on a short leash himself. The mission timer ticking down on his HUD was a constant reminder of that.

He went for the second Jackal first since it would be the harder target out of the two. He quickly rose up and fired half a magazine into the distant rooftop door, forcing the targeted Jackal cutout to retreat behind it. He ducked just as the Grunts and the first Jackal returned fire using holes built into their handheld weapons that loosed TTR rounds in place of Plasma.

Duncan peeked over the other side of the fountain and focused his targeting reticle on the first Jackal. Thanks to suppressing the second, he was instantly free to fire several three round bursts into it. The rounds tore through its frame. Its status light winked red and it collapsed to the ground.

The ODST ducked again as the Grunts finally reacted to his change in position. He reloaded his rifle then got on his stomach and rolled out into the open, much to the surprise of the Grunts. This way he presented a smaller target while giving him a direct line of sight on the last Jackal as it peeked out from its cover. He gave the trigger two light squeezes, producing two precise individual rounds that caught the last sniper in the neck and forehead. Its light winked red and it collapsed.

The Grunts panicked and started to run. Duncan got up and gunned two of them down. He found the third waiting to ambush him from behind a barrier and cut it down with a bullet through the eye.

With the slight reprieve, Duncan took the chance to look around. Everything looked clear. All he had to do now was reach the other side and the exercise was over. He broke into a jog.

Near the end he caught movement in the corner of his eye. He had a split-second to throw himself behind another barrier before a hail of TTR splattered his position.

"Where'd they come from!?" He asked to no one in particular. He had seen them just in time: the cutouts of the two-meter-tall creatures that sported blue armor. Two of them had rushed out in a lateral intercept course to Duncan from wherever they were hiding. Their speed was incredible. They peppered his position with TTR and weren't letting up.

The two Elites were of the Minor Rank from what he could tell by occasionally peeking out. They fired bursts from one position then rushed over to new ones so that he couldn't get a bead on them.

Duncan noticed his timer was at 40 seconds. From what he had learned from the drill instructors, an ODST could handle a pod of Grunts or Jackals alone, but an Elite was a different story. For survival purposes, it was better to face one with at least a fireteam to back you up, even of you were an ODST. And here he was alone with two of them.

He was considering what to do next when he noticed something next to his foot, a rock the size of his fist.

Whether it was there by accident or on purpose it didn't matter because it gave him an idea. He picked it up, reeled back and tossed it to the Elite on his left. The cutout's sensors prompted it to move immediately, registering it as a grenade. Duncan used that against them. He had thrown it so that the only logical direction it could go to avoid it was closer to the other Elite. They were close enough for the frag grenade he threw between them a second later to take full effect.

The detonation produced shrapnel and an explosion big enough to envelope them both.

Duncan immediately strode out from his cover with weapon raised and advanced towards the smoke. As the haze cleared, he saw that one of the Elites who had been closer to the blast was down for the count. The other had its status light flashing yellow, meaning it was wounded but alive, still a threat.

The hardware the cutouts were made of could take a beating, even a grenade explosion. That said, the Elite cutouts were purposefully made more resistant to ballistic and explosive damage to accurately account for the strength of the energy shielding technology that the real ones implored on the battlefield.

Duncan rushed the wounded Elite, firing full auto into its center of mass as he ran. Its status light flickered more sporadically with each shot but it refused to flash red. The thing was still standing by the time his assault rifle clacked empty and he was too close to retreat. He leaped up and slammed the butt of his rifle into the Elite's chin. This time the status light winked red. It fell back from the blow. Thankfully, it stayed down.

Duncan couldn't allow himself to breathe easy just yet. The 20 seconds remaining on his timer prompted him to sprint across the courtyard

He reached the other side right as it hit zero.

"Cutting it close there with that last Elite." A female voice said over the room's PA system. "Overall, it's a job well done. I can't complain. Come back up here Private, asap."

Duncan turned towards the opaque viewing window on the far wall and snapped off a two fingered salute before jogging towards it.

Inside the observation room, the Staff watched as Duncan ran across the courtyard towards the exit. "I think he has what it takes to keep up with the rest of the squad. What do you think, Captain?"

He turned to the woman in question who was also watching the new ODST, both from the viewing window as well as the several screens showing camera feeds of the courtyard. Her steely gray eyes watched the displays depicting Duncan on replay at different angels, examining him. At length she ran her hand through her short, brunette hair in consideration.

"He's good." She said simply. "He'll definitely have to get some of his rough edges sharpened but at least we have a feel for his capabilities."

"I think that'll only come through experience."

Captain Harper and the Staff Sergeant turned to the origin of the voice. The hefty man standing behind them could have easily passed for a bodybuilder. Considering his lengthy routines in Falchion's gym as well as the muscles that bulged under his fatigues, he might as well qualify as one. Even for an ODST, Sergeant Joels was rather built. He stroked his thick beard in thought.

"Iron sharpens iron." He said. "In the same way, Hell molds a Helljumper. Got to give him some credit for using that rock to trick the sensors. It shows he's got some ingenuity. That might come in handy."

"Maybe so." The Staff said. "We'll just need him to be on his best game for whatever this mission is that Garrison wants us on."

"We'll all need to be on our best game, Atty." Harper said. "If it's as big a job as we think it is then everyone's going to need to give their top performance."

The squad leaders of 1st platoon had wanted to test Duncan individually then see how he fared with the rest of Epsilon. That plan had been scrubbed once Falchion's 2-foot tall AI appeared in the observation room while Duncan was still running the exercise. William explained to them that Garrison had specifically requested them for an important mission briefing. Harper had decided to wait until Duncan finished the course before the platoon took any action. She wanted to see what particular brand of crazy might be lurking in this Helljumper, and now she had a pretty good idea.

The door to the observation room opened and the BDU-clad ODST stepped in, saluting his higherups.

"At ease." Harper said. She allowed him to relax his stance. "If what you did in there is anything to go by, you should do just fine in this outfit. I warn you though that it doesn't mean you'll last long. This isn't Ravenport. You'll need to take whatever chance you can get to improve quickly. Out here, its do or die, so which would you rather prefer, trooper?"

"To do, mam." Duncan said. "And let the enemy handle the second one."

A partly impressed smile crossed Harper's face and she nodded to him, turning to the Staff. "I like him already."

"Thought you would, mam." The Staff said.

Harper pressed a button on the long console lining the viewing window which caused the entire thing to enter standby mode.

"We're leaving now." The Captain said. "Something's come up; a new mission we've been selected for. We won't have the time for another practice run with the rest of your squad. You'll simply have to work on integrating during this operation."

Duncan processed the new information quickly. "Understood mam."

"Alright." She said, addressing everyone. "Atty, Joe, are your squads still in place."

"They're still in the lobby." The Staff answered. "Right where we left them."

"I hope so." Joels sighed.

"Good." Harper said. "We'll link up with them and head to the briefing room. Whatever it is, let's get this job done, nice and smooth."

The Staff smirked. "Do we get it done any other way, cap?"

Imitatio - Imitation


	9. Falchion Base - Chapter 3 (Agit)

Chapter 3 - Agit

January 6th, 2544 (06:00 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

In Route to Eposz, Viery Territory

:********:

"Who's Adrien Nemeth?" Duncan asked over team comm despite the drone of the nearby Falcon engine.

"Willy explained it in the debrief." Zack said. "What, you weren't paying attention?"

"No, I got the whole UEG thing. It's just that I've never heard the name before. Is he somebody important here?"

"Who knows. I don't do politics, Irish."

Duncan chose to accept that for now as he turned back to the open sea passing hundreds of meters beneath his feet.

Viery's western coast spanned out as far as the eye could see. The lush greenery of the mainland combined with the crystalline waters below gave off some sense of a peaceful vacation. But peace and tranquility were the last things on Duncan's mind. He wanted action. He knew it was better if everything went well on his first mission. Yet his pounding heartbeat, nearly outdone by the mechanical roar of the UH-144 Falcon's portside rotor, did little to convince him that that was what he actually wanted. His fingers eagerly flexed on the triggers of the massive M247 Heavy Machine Gun resting comfortably over his lap. The way its blue, circular targeting reticle moved across the landscape tempted him even more.

As if to alleviate his silent torment, the Pelican that 1st Platoon was currently escorting came within range. His Smartlink to the machine gun immediately recognized the contact as friendly and turned green. Duncan wished it were red.

Inside were multiple ODSTs protecting a single man. The UEG Representative to Reach, Adrien Nemeth, was on his way to an important meeting taking place on the continent of Eposz.

From what Duncan remembered from the briefing, 1st platoon would be escorting the Representative to the city where the meeting would be held. The event itself would bring about a renewed armament deal between humanity's major governing bodies and three parties: the greatest weapon's manufacturing company, Misriah Armory, the largest military vehicle developer, AMG Transport Dynamics, and the most expansive naval asset contributor, Sinoviet Heavy Machinery. To put it simply as to how influential they were, every UNSC-issued weapon Duncan had ever held and vehicle he had ever been transported in was made either by Misriah Armory or AMG Transport Dynamics. Even the armor he wore had Misriah's personal stamp of approval on it. Sinoviet also produced the bulk of UNSC Navy starships currently in service.

To top it off, UNSC High Command or HIGHCOM had sent its own representative in Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood, the Chief of Naval Operations and Chairmen of the UNSC Security Committee. The man was essentially the de facto leader of the UNSC. In terms of power and authority, Hood was the closest quintessential comparison a human being could make to being God on Earth, or in this case, Reach.

Then there was the United Earth Government. The UEG had ceded most of its power to the emergency military government of the UNSC shortly after the Covenant came onto the scene in 2525.

That greatly diminished whatever presence Nemeth would have at this meeting. If anything, it was probably a political token or sign of goodwill from the UNSC to include the UEG. But it was just as likely that the latter had no hand in the actual negotiations behind the scenes and was simply here to save face.

The deal was being made in response to the unprecedented increase in servicemen joining the UNSC's ranks in the wake of Psi Serpentis. As news spread of Admiral Cole's legendary final stand, destroying over 300 Covenant ships in exchange for his one, it had an unexpected affect across human space. Millions were both moved by the magnitude of his sacrifice as well as the fact that a single man and his crew could do so much in the face of an unbeatable enemy. Cole had effectively taken a hammer to the Covenant's apparent invincibility and shown that they could be stopped, even by so few. That was enough to make men and women across UNSC-controlled space join its various branches in record numbers in what was recently being dubbed the Cole Effect. Duncan was a part of that, and though the Admiral was gone, Duncan and the millions of others he had inspired to take up arms would be his legacy.

However, the surge required an equal rise in equipment development. For that reason, HIGHCOM intended to make a new armament deal with the three major equipment production companies that had already been supporting men and women on the frontlines. This would effectively give humanity's war effort against the Covenant a second wind.

After the briefing, Harper worked with Squad Epsilon, Sergeant Joels' Squad Echo and her own Squad Eagle in assigning the necessary positions in the overall operation to each team. Epsilon and Echo would run air patrol in the 4 available Falcons and also set up overwatches in the 4 buildings designated by the Lieutenant Colonel. All the while, Harper and Squad Eagle would provide on-hand protection for Nemeth until they reached their destination.

Duncan and Zack were Side Gunners for a Falcon piloted by Yuri. The ODSTs had prepared throughout the night then flew to the city of Esztergom to pick up Nemeth from the local consulate building. They refueled at the spaceport there before setting out for Eposz in the early morning.

Tiredness wasn't even a consideration at the moment. Duncan was far too occupied with the thrill of possibilities that his first mission represented. To put it plainly, he was ready to kill something. Then an impulse came that made him shift his weapon sites away from the Pelican before it could manifest. Accidental friendly fire was one thing. Intentional friendly fire was something else. He forced his anxiousness to the back of his mind and tried focusing on the rest of the trip. They had at least another hour left to go, and the star Epsilon Eridani was already cresting the Southeast horizon.

Someone tapped him on his shoulder. He peered back to see it was Deaks. The Corporal sat in the single seat near the Falcon's rear with his sniper nestled in his lap. Nova and the Staff were in the two forward seats opposite him.

"Saw you about to get trigger happy over there. I know it's your first time and I'm not saying you can't shoot people, right?" He pointed to the Pelican. "Just not those people."

Duncan gritted his teeth in embarrassment. Deaks had seen his earlier action with the gun. Thankfully, he didn't see his face behind the visor. Humiliated, he merely nodded and returned to his vigil.

"Ep-8's got a point though, Ep-1." Nova said over comms. "Who even is this guy, Nemeth? We've got plenty bigshots coming and we have to escort some no-name UEG Rep halfway across Viery?"

"He's not a no-name." The Staff corrected. "He's a necessary piece to the puzzle. The only thing is we don't know where he fits. All we can do is follow orders. If HIGHCOM needs him there just to smile and take up space then it's our job to get him there."

"I don't mind." Hector comm'd from his gunner seat on the other Falcon. "Speaking from the standpoint of an ex-chauffer, if the patron's not complaining about the heat, asking for a refund or otherwise showing themselves to be a terrible human being, that's a win. If he's got nothing else going for him, we can at least say he's a decent passenger."

"How would you know?" Zack joined in. "He might be torturing poor Harpy and her guys in there."

"This is 1-Actual to Ep-1." Captain Harper comm'd.

The Staff gave Zack a wary glance. The young trooper probably looked like a deer caught in the headlights behind his visor. "Go ahead 1-Actual."

"Keep Ep-7 off the comms until we reach our destination, I don't want him distracting anyone from the mission."

"Copy that mam." The Staff cut Zack's link to team freq, leaving him to try and mime his apology at them for the rest of the trip.

"Silence is sweetness." Nova commented along the way.

:********:

Duncan had never seen so many white buildings in his life. It was almost blinding to look at thanks to the way the sunlight from Epsilon Eridani reflected off multiple windows, giving a person seeing it for the first time the impression of a city of jewels. Considering its actual worth, that might be exactly where he was.

The skyscrapers of New Alexandria towered overhead, piercing through low lying cloud cover that shrouded the lower part of the city. All the while the far outskirts were hemmed in by snow-capped mountains.

Nova had told him that when a person said they died and went to heaven, there were usually two possibilities. Either they actually went to the real deal or they somehow wound up in New Alexandria. The city itself radiated such an air of affluent elegance that it made it easy to understand the mix-up.

Further to the south, near the city center, there was a single dark monolith that stood out from the rest of the fold, like a literal black sheep. It was by far the tallest structure in the city, easily catching neighboring skyscrapers in its shadow.

The Staff patted Duncan on the shoulder and pointed it out. "That's Olympic Tower over there." He said, sounding like a local giving direction to a tourist. "Its part of FLEETCOM's Headquarters here in the city."

Duncan blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing what the Staff told him he was. If that was true, then that meant he was possibly looking at one of the most important structures in the UNSC upper echelon, likely within the top 5. Duncan caught himself. There was that feeling again, of standing in the throne room of giants, only magnified tenfold.

"I wouldn't go there if I were you though. Grunts like us want nothing to do with it.". Duncan detected a level of trepidation in his voice.

"Why not, sir?"

"Because Olympic itself also happens to be the HQ for a certain group of people that you and I are better off never meeting."

"We live longer that way." Nova chimed in.

"Amen." The Staff said.

The young ODST found himself a little confused by that last part. He didn't bother asking any more questions however as they flew across the relatively calm airspace over the city. It seemed as though local air traffic was reduced, likely to provide additional security for the meeting. They circumvented the Olympic Tower and headed further south.

About a minute into the journey Captain Harper spoke. "High Octavia is in sight. Everyone ready up. Once we start this, there's no stopping."

"This is Echo-1 to 1 Actual." Joels said. "My boys and girls are ready and waiting, over."

"Same here." Atell said.

"Good." Harper replied. "I'll keep in touch. Epsilon, Echo, you know what to do. Let's get this job done."

Up ahead, the High Octavia Hotel practically oozed the apparition of higher society with its bright white base color and blue and gold accents that striped it every 10 levels. Its platinum windows looked more like the facets of a rare diamond. While not larger than the Olympic Tower, it was taller than most buildings in New Alexandria, a jewel among jewels.

At least a hundred journalists from various news organizations were waiting on one of the Octavia's landing pads. Dozens of reporters stood before an equal number of cameramen as they broadcasted the sight of the newest arrival to the hotel.

At 100 meters distance, the two front Falcons broke formation and carried on to the north and south while the other two took up holding positions around the helipad. The Pelican slowed, rotated and descended on the pad. The journalists focused in on the dropship as its landing equipment settled and the rear door opened.

UEG Representative Adrien Nemeth was the first to step down the ramp. Nemeth was a pale man. He sported a black suit and red tie with a husky build and a balding scalp. He quickly smiled for the cameras as they recorded him while Captain Harper and her squad came up from behind.

The throngs of journalists were kept back by a platoon of Military Police as Nemeth and his ODST escorts followed him to the large double doors. They stopped and transferred custody of Nemeth over to a squad of MPs waiting for him there. The Military Police took him inside while Squad Eagle dispersed, taking up positions around the pad.

"Package delivered." Harper said. "The 3 Company Heads are here as well. Looks like Hood hasn't arrived yet. He's got five minutes to make an appearance before this whole thing kicks off."

"Actually, it looks like he's right on time." The Staff said as he looked out from Yuri's Falcon. "I've got eyes on a VIP with escorts coming from the east, over."

Duncan peered over to the east. At first, he didn't spot anything through the cityscape. Then slowly a trio of Pelicans came within sight, heading straight for the helipad.

When they were half a kilometer away Duncan spotted four more dots coming in just behind them. They, however, quickly resolved into the distinct mat-black figures of GA-TL1 Interceptors.

"Longswords incoming." Nova said.

The squadron of four Starfighters overtook the Pelicans, soaring past them until they reached the High Octavia. They broke into groups of 2 as they zoomed overhead, angling off to the north and south once they passed the hotel.

The journalists on the pad sensed the importance of the next incoming dignitary and began surging against the platoon of MPs struggling to hold them back.

"The media smell fresh meat." Deaks commented.

The trio of Pelicans came up to the hotel. Two of them broke off and began a patrol pattern around the structure while the third made a graceful landing on the helipad. The door opened and the man of the hour strode down the ramp.

He was an average sized man, but each step he took carried with it the weight of unspeakable authority. The bars and commendation medals adorning his shoulders along with the gold insignia on his cap paid testament to a lifetime of dedication to the Navy. His uniform was white as snow and easily outshined the buildings of New Alexandria. His aged face exuded a rocksteady confidence that had helped to hold hundreds of colony worlds together in the midst of the greatest crisis mankind had ever known, and hopefully, ever would.

Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood stopped to observe the mass gathering of journalists, cameramen and reporters all crying out his name, begging for an interview. Though he had no time for such things, he gave them a curt nod and a kind smile as the platoon of Army Troopers he had come in with escorted him inside.

"That's one hell of an entrance." Nova said after the doors had closed.

"Honestly, we escorted the wrong guy." Zack said. "If you ask me-"

"But we didn't." The Staff replied, shutting him up.

"Alright, the first two Falcons have got their overwatches in place." Harper said. "Ep-1, Echo-1, your turn to setup your guys. Ep-1, you take the West, Echo-1, take the East."

"Copy." The Staff said.

"On it." Joels replied.

The two Falcons near the helipad broke off and headed in opposite directions. Duncan kept his M247 ready as they passed over the skyscrapers to the west of the Octavia. The further they went, the more he noticed Army Trooper platoons that had setup positions on the rooftops of passing buildings.

"The 27th?" He asked.

"Yeah." Hector answered over comms, observing the situation from the Falcon coming back from the North. "There's probably an entire battalion stationed in this block alone. That's more than enough not to warrant having a platoon of Helljumpers, right?"

Yuri snickered over team freq. "Sounds like you're getting lazy, Ep-4. It shows they need us despite security. Think of us as cherry on top of cake."

"And why don't you think more about flying and not so much about cakes, huh pal? Plus, I'm uncomfortable now. Thanks for putting that image in my head."

"Anything for you, my friend."

Zack grumbled. "Great, now I'm hungry."

They reached their target building in less than a minute: a regular sized corporate office. They flew in low until they were 2 meters above the rooftop.

"Guess this is my stop." Deaks said as he got up. He slung his sniper over his shoulder then came over and bumped Duncan in the arm. "Remember, don't shoot the civies. That's my job."

He leaped down to the roof and quickly ran to the edge. Sliding onto his stomach near the rim, he pulled out the rifle's bipod stand and shouldered the weapon, taking aim at the distant High Octavia. When his sites were right, he nodded at them.

Yuri piloted them away.

"We'll pick you up after lunch!" Zack said, waving goodbye. Deaks gave him a thumbs up before disappearing behind the urban jungle.

"Overwatch setup in the Western Sector, 1-Actual." The Staff said.

"Same in the East." Joels called in.

"Right on schedule." Harper replied. "Holding patterns people, let's get it done."

They all winked their acknowledgement lights, confirming the order. Yuri brought the Falcon within half a kilometer of the Octavia and proceeded into a holding pattern, travelling counterclockwise with the three other Falcons. Each was at least a quarter kilometer farther away from the Octavia than the other so that the individual aircraft could cover a different sector during their concurrent patrols.

It would be at least another forty-five minutes before the meeting was over. That meant forty-five minutes spent scanning the city below. Though Zack occasionally found something to whine about, the comms stayed mostly quiet.

That left Duncan with little to do except sit and think. As he swept his gun sites over the area a thought crossed his mind. It wasn't bad, but under these conditions it wasn't wise either. But his heated blood was cooling to a dull boredom. He decided his idea was better than watching the same buildings passing by every minute.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, Duncan used his technical know-how to try linking his helmet to the feed being broadcasted from Waypoint. It required a certain measure of finesse to manipulate the BDU's Basic Input-Output Systems or BIOS to access a civilian feed without being blocked by the armor's administrational software restrictions. After using his own neural interface to navigate through several backchannels he found the closest Waypoint Server and accessed it. A moment later the feed appeared in the upper-left corner of his HUD. He quickly muted his comms so that no one else could hear the broadcast.

If he was going to be out here then he might as well be informed on the major goings on.

The camera showed a large conference room somewhere within the High Octavia. At least a thousand sat in the audience seats surrounding a stage. On the stage itself was a table where five individuals sat with plaques baring their names.

Duncan recognized Adrien Nemeth sitting at one end. He especially recognized Hood who sat in the very middle. The other three he wasn't so sure about.

There was an older man with a lengthy beard, balding like Nemeth. His plaque read 'Clarke Richardson – President of Misriah Armory.' The second, a middle-aged Asian man whose plaque read 'Asashi Cassowari – President of AMG Transport Dynamics/Asklon'. Then there was a Slavic man probably in his 30s. His plaque read 'Dimitri Ivanov – President of Sinoviet Heavy Machinery'.

Each had a mic. Currently Nemeth was talking into his, giving the welcoming speech to the meeting. Well, it wasn't interesting but it at least gave Duncan something to listen to.

For the next forty minutes he multitasked. He scanned rooftops while simultaneously keeping abreast of the meeting. He listened as Company President Richardson gave his speech on the necessity of the deal, espousing his belief in its potential to turn the tide of the war on the ground. Cassowari and Ivanov delivered similar sentiments, Cassowari coming from the standpoint of more ground vehicles and Ivanov on that of new starships able to go up against the Covenant. Maybe they hadn't realized it until it was too late but each man took at least 10 minutes to complete their speech. And since Hood was going last, that left him with only 5 minutes. By then all the attention in the room was on him. Perhaps it always was.

Surely someone like the Fleet Admiral could go overtime with no issues. Even so, Hood didn't take longer than a minute.

"I am speaking to everyone in attendance." He began. "I'm not referring only to the people in this room, but to every serviceman that is or will ever fight within the United Nations Space Command. When you became a trooper, a Marine, an Airmen and Naval Specialist, by proxy you swore an oath that you would protect Earth and all her colonies. Over the past two decades you and I have both seen how hard that oath is to keep.

Its no mystery that we are in a different place than we were before this war began. We've lost much and gained little. It's also no mystery to me why so many of you joined our ranks after the Battle of Psi Serpentis. In Admiral Cole's actions, you saw yourself reflected. You learned that even a single man or woman can make a difference against the likes of the Covenant, even at such a cost.

Today, we will honor that cost with our own. Our intention is to provide you with the necessary equipment you will need to take the fight to the enemy, both on the ground, in the air, in space and wherever else this war may take us.

In the end, even though this deal will supply millions, it matters little. What matters is the individual decisions made by you who dawn the uniform, what you do with what's been given. My hope and that of everyone in this room, every colony world and even Earth, is that you will use it to stop what we now know is not an unstoppable foe. The Covenant are no longer an inevitability. We know this and so do they. And by the work of one Marine, one trooper, one airman and one naval specialist, we will show our enemies that mankind is not so easily trodden. Thank you, and Godspeed."

Duncan sat stunned for a few moments. The speech was unexpectedly honest. That and it had effectively captured the essence of the last six months of his life in sixty seconds. "I see why we love him so much." He said to himself.

Applause resounded throughout the conference room. Shortly after the end of his speech the signing began. The camera focused on the table as a folder was handed down, opened and given the signature of all five men. When it was done, it came back to Hood who stood up to show it to the crowd. Another round of lively applause filled the room.

Then everyone at the table stood in unison and walked off the stage to somewhere offscreen. A female reporter came in front of the camera and started commenting on the tremendous nature of what had just transpired, emphasizing how its historic importance would be remembered for generations to come.

"Hey Staff." Zack said. "Want to hear a joke?"

Duncan listened in. The Staff turned to Zack with a deliberate slowness.

"Remember the longswords from earlier? I guess you could say that Hood brought a 'sword' to a gunfight." Zack patted his Machine Gun for emphasis and cackled over comms. The Staff simply stared at him long enough for his humor to dry up. Beside him, Nova shook her head in disappointment. But Hector was laughing.

"You're so corny your blood's made of starch, man, I swear."

Zack engaged in another round of laughter. "Hey Heck, want to hear another on-"

Light.

Or maybe it was something else. Duncan could only describe it as such when the world around him lit up far faster than it should have, as if someone had taken the sun and put it right behind him at a moment's notice. A sudden BOOM reverberated through the air. He felt it in his body first as it rattled his bones. Then he felt it in the Falcon a second later as it reeled under the force of the pressure wave that followed, causing them to swerve left and right in a desperate bid to stay airborne. Emergency sirens came on and lights flickered. Duncan bearhugged his gun and refused to let go as the aircraft went into a tailspin.

Yuri must have fought hard to maintain control because they recovered after a few seconds but had lost 30 meters of altitude.

"Chto eto bylo!?" Yuri roared, his native tongue rising up as he seethed with rage. "YA chut' ne poteryal avioniku! Klyanus', ya kogo-nibud' ub'yu, yesli eto shutka!"

"Focus, Yuri!" Nova said, forcing herself back into her seat. "What was that!?"

"Look, in the southeast!" Rico said. "Is that…"

Yuri slowly brought the Falcon to bare. Then everyone saw it.

A mushroom cloud rose 700 meters high two kilometers away. It reminded Duncan of a fiery flower in full bloom. It took him a second to notice that all the nearby buildings had their windows blown out. Even the High Octavia hadn't been spared. The feed of the conference room showed scores of people in the audience screaming and running towards the exits. Duncan quickly shut it off.

"Ep-1 to Echo-1 and 1 Actual, do you copy!?" The Staff called in.

Static answered him at first. Then after a few seconds, Joels' came on the line coughing. "I copy, what just happened!?"

"We've got an explosion 2 clicks southeast of the Octavia. Looks like it took out a whole building."

There was a moment's hesitation on Joels' end. "Copy your last, Ep-1. What about 1-Actual, you heard from her?"

"Still nothing." The Staff reset his comms. "1 Actual, you there? Respond, over?"

There was more static. Then an answer came. "This is 1 Actual, I copy all. Whatever that explosion was, we need to investigate. I'm having Eagle work with the MPs to get our 5 VIPs out of here as quickly as possible. There's no telling what that blast did to the Octavia's structural integrity so we're moving fast."

There was a disruption and the sound of something crashing around Harper.

"1 Actual!?"

"Still here." Harper said. "Got debris falling on our heads in here. We're taking the VIPs to Lochaber Base."

"Requesting permission for Squad Epsilon to investigate the explosion." The Staff said.

There was another silence before the answer came. "Permission granted. Don't get too close. If you're avionics run into problems pull back immediately. Echo-1, I want your team providing escort for the VIP Pelican. We'll all rendezvous at Falchion later, understood?"

"Loud and clear." Joels said.

"Crystal." Atell added. He opened a direct line to Deaks. "Ep-3, you still there?"

There was another long silence. The ODSTs looked amongst themselves, concerned.

"Caught a little wind under my dress but I'm still here, sir." Deaks finally answered.

The relief was almost immediate. "We're picking you up then investigating the explosion."

"Copy that, already waiting."

At the Staff's behest, Yuri took the Falcon back to Deaks' position. They found the sniper sitting with his legs hanging over the lip, staring contemplatively at the distant mushroom cloud. They got close enough for him to jump onboard before heading straight for the site of the destruction.

The closer they got the hotter it became. It took Zack pointing it out for them to notice that the force of the explosion had actually removed the morning cloud-cover. It allowed them to see the crowds of morning commuters that had occupied the streets below just before the detonation. Columns of vehicles with blown out windows had stacked up into a blockage of unyielding traffic. People were running away in human tidal waves from the direction of the blast. Some didn't. They simply lay on the ground, unmoving.

Then came the blast site itself.

Whatever building had been standing there had already been obliterated down to its very foundations, leaving little but a tall pillar of smoke. Ash rained down from the cloud and covered Duncan's Machine Gun. He had to clear it away to keep it from building up every other minute. The other Falcon was already circling the mushroom cloud when they joined in.

Nothing but devastation stared back at them. The upper half of a neighboring building had been blown apart and another leaned slightly away in the direction of the pressure wave.

Duncan spotted dozens of bodies lying within the blast radius, some lying beneath debris. There was something surreal about the scene that made it almost dreamlike, as if he wasn't really here in this place at this time.

"Epsilon, we're heading down to assist." The Staff said. "Deaks, Hector, you're on lookout. Spot survivors and call them out. And keep an eye out, we don't know if this was the last of the attack."

Everyone's green acknowledgement lights winked on but there was a palpable hesitation from Duncan.

The Staff knocked on his helmet. "Eyes up, Ep-8."

Duncan nodded back. Still, worry burned in his gut at the fact that he was about to go down to ground-zero.

The Falcons descended to street level and the ODSTs leaped out. They began searching the rubble while their aircrafts took up a holding pattern.

They found bodies and their parts, the living and the dead lying together beneath piles of rubble. There were places they couldn't go thanks to raging fires and collapsing structural beams that glowed red hot. Deaks used his sniper rifle to find one person after the next, placing a NAV Marker over where people had been partially buried. They dug them out and carried them away. The wounded they placed near a community bus that had been torn in two where Nova did her best to tend to them. The dead they placed near a charred traffic light that had been bent back at an acute angle. The shadow of the smoke cloud was ever present.

Duncan found himself wandering into the twilight zone between shock and utter disbelief. This wasn't combat, not the kind he'd been expecting. It was destruction on a mass scale.

At one point he finished carrying the body of a woman with a bloodied shirt to the wounded group. He stared at the smoke column stretching towards the sky. None of the others sounded seriously affected by it, and it bothered him, because it made him aware of just how much of an experience gap there was between them and himself. Even Zack was quiet as he moved from rubble to rubble.

Then a thought crossed his mind that he wished hadn't. As bad as this was, it was virtually nothing, a drop in the bucket, compared to what the Covenant were doing and had already done to numerous planets in the outer colonies, and now increasingly in the inner colonies. One destroyed building was nothing compared to a burning world. Yet the destruction playing out before his eyes threatened to overwhelm him. He realized that he had understood what the destruction of an entire world meant theoretically. To see even a fraction of that up close was something else. The question left itself burning in his soul: how ready was he for this?

Duncan held down the sudden urge to gag. If he let himself go in front of everyone else, he would never live it down. For the time being, refusing to look bad in front of his comrades was the sole motivation that kept him moving from place to place and body to body.

Eventually the first wave of emergency responders arrived on the scene. Sirens wailed as New Alexandria Police Officers began cordoning off the area and setting up a perimeter. Firefighters came to shoot jet streams of water into the growing flames. Ambulances streamed onto the scene and paramedics flowed amongst the ODSTs, helping them remove the wounded on stretchers.

Still, more searching yielded more bodies, some charred beyond recognition. Most seemed like they hadn't known what knocked them unconscious or killed them outright. All they could do was gather them, sort them out then search again.

They worked for hours. Then Lieutenant Colonel Garrison contacted the Staff. He ordered them to return to Falchion immediately and to leave everything else to the emergency teams. Squad Epsilon returned to their Falcons and headed for the coast. As they left, the troopers stared at the thinning smoke cloud and the city growing further away.

Even after it disappeared over the horizon, Duncan continued to stare and wander as to what exactly he had spent the last six months getting himself into.

Agit -Deal


	10. Falchion Base - Chapter 4 (Aurum)

Chapter 4 - Aurum

January 10th, 2544 (15:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Undisclosed Location

4 Days After the Molnar Bombing

:********:

White walls, sterile hallways and lights without any visible source had comprised everything Lieutenant Riat Cordova had seen for the past several hours. It was enough to drive a person insane given enough time, and knowing who she worked for, there was a high chance that that was its purpose. Perhaps it was a subtle psych examination meant to test the mental state of the person inside.

Cordova had to stop herself from overthinking, no easy feat considering her profession. She was paid to overthink, to consider possibilities others wouldn't dare imagine. Oftentimes it was the ludicrous and absurd that proved to be correct. Maybe that said a lot about the times. After all, when was the last time humanity faced an existential threat from a superior enemy?

Then again, Cordova hadn't just spent the last four days investigating the actions of the Covenant. No, this was a different, much older enemy.

Suddenly seams appeared within the otherwise featureless wall in front of her. It formed a door that slid aside with a metallic hiss to reveal a white hallway beyond. An automated woman's voice with a detectable British accent spoke.

"Lieutenant Cordova, The Colonel has been expecting you."

"I'm sure he has." Cordova said as she got up. She took a deep breath to steady herself then strode inside.

The hallway seemed to stretch on until ceiling and floor met in some extremely distant horizon. After thirty seconds spent walking forward, she stopped and turned to the right. Another door materialized itself inside the wall, sliding apart to reveal a dark room.

Cordova willed herself to step inside and the doors closed behind her.

A single ceiling light turned on over a chair placed in front of a large table. She pulled out the chair and sat down.

As far as she could tell there was no one else in the room. It was quiet. She shifted in her seat and the walls absorbed the sound.

Where was he? Cordova knew the AI had allowed her access to the debriefing room for her scheduled report. Her CO should be here.

"I believe you have my report, Lieutenant?" A male voice said from somewhere in the dark. Cordova stiffened and peered further into the room. She couldn't tell whether it was her imagination or if her eyes were actually able to carve out a single silhouette, a shadow whose vague shape melded and dissolved with the surrounding blackness. It just so happened to be sitting opposite her.

Cordova swallowed. "Yessir. I believe you received my files?"

"Yes." The darkness replied.

"We-"

"ADT 6849-9." The dark interrupted. "Activate the presentation board and upload Cordova's report to it as well as my personal pad."

The British sounding AI answered. "The requested file has been successfully uploaded to both devices."

Behind Cordova, a presentation board activated and its light filled the room. As it booted up, it showed a black and white pyramid with a central circle: the symbol of the Office of Naval Intelligence.

"Lieutenant, if you would be so obliged."

Cordova looked back to the faint silhouette and noticed that it was still difficult to distinguish from the rest of the room. She got up and stood near the board. It sensed her presence and the screen changed to two images. The first displayed the mushroom cloud that had been seen by so many in the city of New Alexandria. The other showed the large building that had stood there before the explosion. The skyscraper was the regional headquarters of the Molnar Colonial Bank, a financial institution prominent amongst the inner colonies.

"As you already know," Cordova began. "On January 6th, an explosion with a blast radius of 300 meters went off within the Molnar Regional Headquarters."

She moved her hand. The screen swiped over to the 3-Dimensional depiction of the building's schematics. Cordova magnified the 7th sublevel where a ball of light popped into existence and rapidly expanded out. The explosion rippled upwards through the building's floors in microseconds. Cordova wondered how it might have been for the people working there a heartbeat before they suddenly no longer existed.

The explosion funneled through windows, splitting the structural foundation in two before shattering the building completely, sending out a deadly pressure wave over three kilometers.

"Total civilian casualties amounted to more than 6,000, of which 1,952 were fatalities. We only allowed Waypoint and other media outlets to reveal a third of the actual figures."

She did a circle with her fingers and the explosion reversed course, heading back into the Molnar as the building reformed itself. She stopped it once it reached the small ball of light.

"The explosion began here, on sublevel 7, inside a storage vault. Our EOD Specialists recovered samples from the site."

The screen changed to small pieces of gold under a microscope.

"We found an unusual quantity of gold fragments close to ground-zero, even recovering whole bars that were still intact. Forensics revealed the gold had extraordinarily high traces of Iridium mixed within its chemical composition. Even the few undamaged bars showed the presence of high Iridium composites. This is unusual because the average quantity we detected was approximately 7.4 times higher than the acceptable limit within which gold bars can be used as liquid assets. That's according to the CAA's legislation on the management of permissible, non-credit based currencies."

"I'm aware of the legislation of 2409." The darkness said. "It sounds like someone was running a racket at the Molnar. But how does that relate to the bombing?"

Cordova nodded. "Beyond the Iridium, we found high traces of explosive residue matching the chemical profile of Composition 12. As you're aware, mixing regular, everyday items with explosive compounds was a common practice by a certain enemy."

"…The Insurrectionists…" The voice said pensively. Cordova thought she saw the silhouette rematerialize and lean forward, thinking. She felt free to continue when he said nothing more.

"During the Insurrection, in Operations like TREBUCHET, the primary cause of UNSC casualties were IEDs disguised as normal objects. One example was an incident on Tribute in 2524 when the wheels of a truck were used to destroy an entire Jim Dandy restaurant. It killed 3 Marines and 38 civilians. We can think of this as the same incident on a much larger scale."

"So, it's the Innies then." The silhouette said. "I suspected as much, but what other evidence do you have to convince me they signed their personal signature on that mushroom cloud?"

Cordova ran through the presentation in her mind. She shifted the screen to the mug shot of an Eastern European man in a business suit whose face suggested he wasn't having the best day.

"This is Adorjan Adami, the Manager of the Molnar Regional Headquarters Building. Mr. Adami was not at the Molnar at the time of the explosion. We caught him at the Starport about to take an out-system shuttle. After some questioning we were given access to the Molnar's Account Information Servers. A thorough search found a single account that had transferred nearly 200,000,0000 credit's worth of gold to the vault where the explosion occurred. This transfer started with the first deposit in 2532 and ending with the latest deposit as recently as two days prior to the meeting at the Octavia."

Cordova flipped to the next image which showed a catalogue of enterprises. "We couldn't access any personal communications between the Molnar and this account owner except for private conversations between Mr. Adami himself and our unidentified party.

We're not certain why yet but Adami agreed to have the Molnar act as an unofficial investment bank, converting the gold's worth into credits before funding over 49 different organizations. Most are ordinary corporations who we found no solid connections to. It seems Adami and some within the management were using this account to send out the money as investment funding. The only one we found of particular interest was the group at the very top of the list."

Cordova swiped her hand and a picture came on. This one was a symbol of two arrowheads, one inverted and phased over the other to form a letter 'A'.

"The Aegis Material Acquisition and Defensive Delivery Services, or AMADDS, is a mercenary group for hire that emerged around the same time as the mysterious account was made. They're the only group under a contractual agreement between the account owner and Mr. Adami to receive a consistent funding of 20% of the account's monetary worth annually. Little is known about them except that they're black market hitmen on different colony worlds. Other than that, there's little known, even by ONI. To add on top of that, Adami doesn't even know the identity of the account owner. Even worse is that we tried hacking all of his devices for the information but couldn't trace what we found to any known person or entity."

"Have you tried everything to get answers?" The voice asked.

"Everything, sir."

"Everything?" He asked again, prying further.

"Everything within our operational limits, sir." Cordova said. She heard a huff from the darkness.

"Mr. Adami is potentially responsible for the deaths of thousands. If he has valuable information about this account owner or the AMADDS, that leaves us well within our rights to violate his."

"Human rights, sir?" Cordova asked.

"Whatever rights we see fit to recognize." The voice answered, a hint of anger stalking in his tone. "Anyway, what else did you find?"

Cordova hadn't realized how tense she had become during the exchange. She relaxed her stance. "There was a hunch, sir."

"Hunch?"

"The bars contained high levels of Composition 12. It's likely that bars with internal 'timers' were set to go off around the same time as the armament deal once news of it went mainstream. That means that the account owner, whoever they are, was planning this for potentially more than a decade."

"You're telling me there's someone out there who predicted that Hood would have an armaments deal in the High Octavia? And planted bombs just 2 kilometers away in excess of 12 years?" The voice cackled to himself. "Hmph, I bet the old hag couldn't even see that far into the future, and that's a terrifying precedent in and of itself. Go on, Lieutenant."

"It's possible that they were simply placing the bombs there since Reach is so important strategically. They're goal in detonating it on the same day as the Armament Deal may have been more for psychological affect."

"…To say they could have taken out the heart of the UNSC right then and there if they really wanted to." The voice thought to himself. "If that's the case then we need to hunt them down immediately."

"And we may know where to start hunting, sir." Cordova said.

There was a moment of silence from the dark before the response came. "Really?"

Cordova switched to the image of a planet's upper atmosphere.

"As for a signature on the mushroom cloud, the gold's high Iridium levels are characteristic of the gold used by mining facilities on Epsilon Eridani IV, specifically the lesser continent of Arany."

Another image appeared. It showed a continent connected to an even larger landmass by a massive isthmus.

"Arany is rich in Iridium and known for its Iridium mines that flourished around 2440. However, these mines were shut down by UNSC authorities on the planet during the Insurrection. Rebels began using them to mix gold with large amounts of Iridium before flooding the markets, selling them as pure gold to support their efforts against the colonial authorities. This threatened the economic stability of the Eridani system and forced the UNSC to shut them down."

"An old racket." The voice commented.

"However." Cordova continued. "In the wake of the Insurrection, most UNSC forces that once secured the mines were redeployed after the Covenant were first encountered on Harvest. This would've given anyone the chance to return to operate the mines in secret.

Operating on this hunch, we acquired access to Stealth Tactical Aerial Reconnaissance Satellites placed over Arany. We discovered that satellite observations by Section II had gone mostly unrecorded for years. This was due to the lack of Insurrectionist presence on the surface as well as the need for satellite-intel gathering operations against the Covenant."

The board showed pictures of a large complex deep within Arany. They carried the dates the pictures were taken as they moved forward through time.

"Construction began on structures around the Meleonich Mining Facility, one of many closed during the Insurrection. Around May of 2531, the facility suddenly disappeared."

Sure enough, the compound vanished in its totality beneath a layer of wildlife.

"Thermal scans around 2531 revealed that not only was the facility still there, but it also had a growing population."

The board showed thermal scans of the area with at first a few dozen, then hundreds and finally several thousand by the time it reached 2544.

The silhouette observed the scans for a few seconds.

"You may not know this." He said. "But ONI had tracked one of the three major leaders of the Insurrection here to Epsilon Eridani before he dropped off our radar. We captured Watts in 2525 and killed Graves in 2531. But the third head honcho got away.

"You mean Major Benjamin Kirkley?" Cordova asked. "The former UNSC Army Major that defected to the URF?"

Cordova immediately understood where the conversation was going.

"You're saying he's on Epsilon Eridani IV, sir?"

"I'm saying there's a chance." The silhouette corrected. "This mining operation began around the same time that he disappeared. To have hidden the entire Meleonich Building from us, they must be using Photo-Reflective Jammer Stations. Its the only known human technology capable of fooling satellites like this, meaning this is no simple enemy. Kirkley may be our missing link and if he's really down there…"

A deep, contemplative silence passed. It lasted for half a minute and even Cordova found herself pondering the possibilities.

"Lights." The voice said.

Immediately, light flooded the room, prying away the mask of shadows from the individual sitting on the opposite side. He was a balding middle-aged man sporting a UNSC Army Officer's uniform. The eagle insignia of a Colonel was pinned to his shoulder beside the insignia of ONI. Beneath it was a tag that read 'J. Ackerson'. He had a smug yet contemplative look on his face that suggested the beginnings of machinations ready to move heaven and earth to have their way.

Cordova realized this was her first time seeing her new CO. Being a Section 2 girl herself, she had been reasonably wary when her original superior informed her that she would be heading an investigative team under Section 3 leadership. A joint operation between the otherwise autonomous Sections was rare in the Office of Naval Intelligence. To have abruptly formed one had surprised Cordova more than the bombing itself. Yet she had to follow orders.

At length, the man rose from his seat and strode over to her. "Congratulations Lieutenant, you may have just caught us a big fish." He held out his hand to shake. Cordova was suspicious of the gesture. Still she forced herself to shake it.

"Thank you, sir."

"Now understand this, Lieutenant. I've been given express authority from HIGHCOM's Security Committee to pursue whatever course of action I think necessary to capture and or neutralize those responsible for the Molnar Bombing. It's a blank check and I want you on it."

"Sir?"

"You have the diligence and intelligence I'll need to accomplish the task that lies ahead of us. You'll be serving as my personal aid until this whole thing is over. Understood?"

Cordova noticed that his hand grip had tightened almost imperceptibly. She knew it was better to simply get the job done so this whole operation would be over sooner. She met his tight grip with her own.

"Understood. I'll do what I can to help, sir."

:********:

Two days later and Cordova was back in the Colonel's office. Organizing a Task Force capable of dealing with the possible Rebel presence on Epsilon Eridani IV was shaping up to be a perpetual game of tug-o-war.

Colonel James Ackerson favored a more direct approach with Marines and Armored Units invading the mining facility. Cordova favored a stealthier approach, using ODSTs to first investigate the site and confirm the enemy presence there. To simply bring the hammer down without any real considerations for what was really there could lead to an incident of massive proportions. Then they would have to cover up a massacre, which was already a difficult enough task for Section 1 every other week, courtesy of the Covenant of course.

She didn't seem to be able to convince Ackerson of her point. It was as if it were a different man that had asked her to be part of his "blank check" two days ago. He either refused to listen or refuted her points with a measure of logic mixed with personal preference.

'I've seen your recommendations, Lieutenant." Ackerson said. "However, it's not feasible for what's necessary here."

At the moment they were arguing in front of the presentation board which showed the two roster lists of units they were considering for the operation. Earlier he had asked her to compile such a list to present to him, but she hadn't thought it would be just so he could refute it with his own.

"Sir." Cordova replied. "An ODST Team could land out of scanner range, neutralize the Jammer Stations and confirm the Insurrectionist presence at the Meleonich."

"Lieutenant." Ackerson said, a growing irritation in his voice. "You haven't considered that since they have Jammer Stations, its equally likely that they will have the capacity to detect any major UNSC forces as soon as they enter local space.

If they detect those forces ahead of time then chances are high that whatever High Value Targets are there will take the opportunity to flee. We'll risk losing Kirkley as well as ODSTs needlessly. Which is why we'll use the 202nd Expeditionary Marine Division's 1st Battalion as the main ground force. With assistance from the 25th Aerial Reserve Wing and the 75th Armored Division, not to mention an entire battlegroup, we'll crush even the faintest traces of rebellion on that planet."

He folded his arms and looked at her, as if daring her to suggest otherwise.

"I disagree, sir." Cordova said. The moment his face hardened told her that hereon in she was walking on eggshells. "A tactical insertion enables us to confirm the degree of the hostile presence at the facility. We may very well be walking into a bloodbath in the enemy's favor without that intel. Thermal scans can't show us everything sir. We need eyes on the ground."

Ackerson seemed to briefly consider the matter, then furrow his brows as he grew more irritated. "Your assessment is noted. That said, we cannot allow someone like Kirkley to escape if he's there."

"If." Cordova emphasized. "How can we confirm unless we send someone down there?"

A scowl crossed Ackerson's face. Cordova could tell he didn't like his plans being criticized as they were now. High-ranking officers in ONI never had to worry about a lower-class agent questioning their plans. But he had made her his liaison officer. While it didn't put them on equal footing, at the very least it allowed her to point out factors that he may not have otherwise considered.

Then she thought of something. Section 3 was the branch of ONI responsible for weapon's and technology development. They specialized in 'black ink' programs prioritizing the creation of new technologies, particularly via captured Covenant tech, into usable resources for the UNSC's war effort. She had been lucky up until this point that he hadn't dismissed her. What she was about to do now was push her luck over the edge.

"Is there a way for ODSTs to deploy secretly to the ground without being detected, even from space?"

She hadn't said it directly: Is there a secret developmental program run by a subdivision of Section 3 that can help us out of our dilemma? But she might as well have said it.

Ackerson didn't respond the way she expected. She figured he would point out the fact that she had no authority to ask for such classified information, then have her kicked off the mission, demoted and recommended for psychological evaluation by ONI Psych Branch.

Instead, the Colonel stood hand to chin. An idea seemed to come to mind, one he looked uncertain about. He sat back behind his desk and sank deeply into his chair.

"ADT 6849-9, establish tertiary and quaternary encryption lockouts on all communication sensors connected to this room."

A second later the British-sounding AI answered. "Tertiary and Quaternary Layer encryption lockouts are activated."

Ackerson sighed, pinching his nose thoughtfully.

"…There is a way." He said and clasped his hands together. "We developed a technology, an advanced variant of the ODSTs' Human Entry Vehicle. We call it the Long-Range Stealth Orbital Insertion Pod. Essentially, while HEV's can only be launched from a vessel in orbit around a planet, the LRSOIP can be launched from a ship still in slipspace. They're also stealthed to make them undetectable from groundside radar systems."

Cordova winced. When had they even acquired the knowhow to develop such technology? Then again, she reminded herself that it was Section 3. Anything that came out for use by the UNSC was likely a play toy for them 20 years earlier.

"That's perfect, sir."

"There' just one problem." Ackerson leaned onto the table. "They haven't been tested in real world combat conditions."

"How would that be a problem, sir?" Cordova asked.

"Not exactly a problem." Ackerson corrected. "Merely the risk of one. This means whoever you suggested for the op will be the first to field test it. They'll need a month or two of training beforehand. And that worries me because the longer we take the greater the window our enemy has to escape."

"It's still a worthy risk." Cordova said. "It gives us the chance to recon without immediately alerting the enemy. Won't it be worth the capture of a man like Kirkley?"

Ackerson breathed out and took a slow breath in. "I see your point, Lieutenant. Alright, I'll pull some strings to get access to the Pods and get you access to their specs. Now for your end of the deal." He squinted back at the board.

"Are you sure about your selection?"

Cordova glanced back at the unit she had chosen for the job. "Yessir. They're a veteran unit and the best option in my opinion."

"I see." Ackerson said. He turned back to her. "In the end it seems we'll both get what we want."

"Not exactly, sir." Cordova said. "You still haven't approved of my final recommendation on the operational roster."

Cordova felt the air in the room shift unexpectedly. It felt heavy. It manifested itself around the sharp change in the Colonel's demeanor. He was no longer relaxed but visibly stiffened. She saw something metastasize behind his eyes that reminded her she was still merely a subordinate.

"That recommendation." He nearly growled. "will not be included."

"Sir? Why not?"

"Because this operation is able to be conducted successfully by Marines, Navy Pilots, Tank Operators and Shock Troopers." He shot her a look that could have melted through Titanium A armor. "Ordinary human beings."

Cordova quickly realized she wasn't walking on eggshells anymore. She was walking on the minefield of Ackerson's explosive ego. She swallowed.

"With respect sir, aren't you aware of the rumors that have been spreading across the frontlines over the years? It's no longer an impossibility to deploy them alongside regular troops."

"They're a liability in more ways than one. But I doubt someone of your rank could understand that." He had taken aim at her credibility. Maybe hers wasn't much compared to his own. Either way she knew she needed to press her point. Lives were on the line.

"Colonel. During my initial report, you spoke on the capture of Colonel Watts in 2525 and the elimination of General Graves in 2531. Both were extremely high-profile Insurrectionist leaders that led rebellions within entire star systems, and they were both taken out. No ordinary human beings, no ODSTs even, could have pulled off such clandestine operations as those, sir."

Ackerson sat back and grumbled under his breath. "I'm not about to let Halsey get the glory for this one."

Perhaps he was just that angry, but Cordova inwardly recoiled at what may have been a gross breach of military secrecy. Dr. Halsey was famous within ONI, a first rate intellectual.

Sensitive information may have been dumped right in front of her. Information leaks within ONI were as feared as someone with Hemophobia finding out they were internally hemorrhaging. The Office specialized in making problematic people disappear. The only problem with that was that it made life dangerous for agents themselves. That was because they were surrounded by others that knew how to effectively erase a person.

The Lieutenant feigned ignorance so the Colonel wouldn't think she overheard him. She leaned in closer. "We need them. I'm not aware of how extensive their service records are. What I can assume is that if we want the best chances of capturing someone like Kirkley, we'll need them on the Task Force."

Cordova was constantly watching Ackerson's face to make sure she wasn't stepping on a proverbial landmine. The furrowed brow and angry scowl slowly growing on his face, added by the fact he remained silent, told her she may have barely avoided one.

"Colonel, if we capture Kirkley, you will still be given full credit for the success of the operation. It's still your operation."

Cordova's last words seemed to slowly defuse the man. His brow gradually relaxed and his scowl lightened as whatever internal demons she had accidentally summoned retreated into the depths. His eyes remained steadfastly locked on hers.

"…Alright Lieutenant…you've convinced me."

Cordova perked up. "You'll use them?"

"You've convinced me to consider it." He said and nodded towards the door. "You're dismissed for today."

The Lieutenant felt she still had more to say but decided that it was a battle well fought. She rose up, saluted and walked out the room.

:********:

Hubris.

Colonel James Ackerson knew, like any sensible agent, that if you wanted to make any headway at all within the Office of Naval Intelligence then you had to have a certain measure of it in your system, at least a few millilitres above the healthy dose. It gave you an edge over the less motivated within the rank and file. You rose up because you knew that working to emphasize your own success would ultimately contribute to the continuation of humanity, the UNSC and most importantly, ONI itself.

But there were some that simply didn't understand that. They were the ones that would always be subordinate to those who did.

Once the seams of the door frame disappeared, Ackerson started tapping his office table. Why was he so irritated? His initial observation of Lieutenant Cordova when he chose her to be responsible for field investigations told him she was the perfect subordinate. Loyal, but not to herself. He felt he could use that. Even so, that conversation had exposed an element within the agent that he wasn't fond of. She was willing to question what should have been unquestionable. He detected a hint of independence. Moreover, and perhaps more dangerously, she seemed to know more than she was letting on or was at least giving off that impression.

No, that wasn't it.

Then it clicked. She reminded him of someone. The way she left the room even mirrored how a certain Lieutenant Commander had also questioned him at a point in their relationship of officer and subordinate. The latter's tendency towards independence was a given. His job required adaptability by its very nature. But the only reason Ackerson was willing to tolerate it was because it got him results. It was the kind of long-term investment that bore fruit every 7 years and increased his own career service vitae in the sight of HIGHCOM.

Ackerson realized he was anxious, not angry. That was because at the moment there was little over a year left before the next 300 results were finally ready. It was a long time to wait but the fact that the waiting period was winding down made him anxious.

His attention shifted to Cordova. While a capable liaison officer, she certainly had potential. He decided that he would keep an eye on her. Hopefully, she would also bring him preferential results in the coming days.

The Colonel thought back to what he told the Lieutenant about 'ordinary human beings' being the ones to bring success in the eventual operation. He smiled and laughed to himself. How could he not? Afterall, only one of them was fully aware of how impossibly hypocritical that statement actually was.

Aurum - Gold


	11. Falchion Base - Chapter 5 (Provectus)

Chapter 5 - Provectus

February 25th, 2544 (26:05 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, near Reach

In Slipspace aboard the UNSC Juno

:*******:

Duncan had gotten to catch up with O'Reilly, Cosmo and Stanton in the days following the bombing. Everyone was in their respective battalions in different systems. The 15th Battalion was treating Cosmo well enough. Stanton had had a hard time but he had a few good squadmates to help him adjust to life in the 9th Battalion. However, O'Reilly was a different story.

As it turns out, the Irishman was now part of the 10th Battalion, in Duncan's place. They had both been confused about their deployment orders but gotten settled into each other's units.

"A bit of a mix-up but it paid off in the end." O'Reilly had said. "Look on the bright side Sunny Jim, I've got a few cuties on my end thanks to you. If anything, I can only thank you for that mate. And hey, I think one's got a thing for me."

"Glad to see that I could help." Duncan had laughed. "I guess we'll be taking each other's places from hereon in. Since my new nickname is Irish, I figured I might as well get used to talking like you."

"I'll send you a dictionary of words we use to help you live up to the clout. Can't have my doppelganger defaming muh good name, now can I?" O'Reilly winked.

That was almost two months ago. He hadn't told him about how his first mission had gone south or how he spent the following week at Falchion waking up from nightmare after nightmare of him pulling ownerless limbs from underneath burning rubble. He hadn't even told Erica, or the rest of his team for that matter. He mostly kept it to himself as he worked alongside his fellow ODSTs. He didn't want them to be concerned for him. They had enough to worry about in keeping themselves from being lost to the unknown depths of active slipspace.

Less than two weeks ago, Lieutenant Colonel Garrison had informed everyone in Bravo Company: they would be participating in an operation in response to the Molnar Bombing. That had quickly gotten Duncan's blood up. That meant that they had found whoever was responsible, and there were already rumors spreading among the older ODSTs that it was the Insurrectionists. It was the most obvious answer which was why the troopers were so ready to get to work, having come to their own conclusions the moment Waypoint broadcasted the first images of the bombing.

The only problem was that the operation was different by far than anything they had done up until this point. They had been transported from Falchion to the Paris Class Heavy Frigate, UNSC Juno.

There they had met with an officer with unknown affiliations. They were given only her name: Lieutenant Cordova. She visibly had Mediterranean roots and a distanced disposition to everyone around her. Surprisingly to Duncan, the others also kept a good distance from her unless they needed to engage in direct conversation. Early on, during a chat in the ship's mess hall, Zack had referred to her as a Spook. He was promptly slapped in the back of the head by Nova and told to keep his voice down. But the word's meaning wasn't completely lost to Duncan.

He had heard it used by Marines in the Reserve unit he had served with back on Earth. It was a term used mainly by regular UNSC personnel to identify someone suspected or confirmed to be affiliated with the Office of Naval Intelligence. It was said that you could identify a spook by the way they kept their identities hidden, kept a distance from other servicemen and were always looking over their shoulders when others were too close. Cordova seemed to match the description and that didn't bode well with him, or anyone else. Duncan didn't know much about ONI, only rumors that they could make you disappear without a trace and have even your family deny you ever existed.

Despite whatever suspicions the ODSTs had, they had to put it aside for the mission. The Lieutenant would be working as the liaison officer between them and the commander in charge of the overall operation, a man whose name Duncan didn't know beforehand either. Added to Nemeth, he figured that maybe he should start reading up more on Reach some time.

Colonel James Ackerson was a man that the ODSTs got only the briefest glimpse of when they first came aboard the Juno. He had introduced himself then given them the rundown of the fact that this new mission would require time and patient training. He then had all 250 of the troopers of Bravo Company sign waivers ensuring their sworn secrecy regarding everything related to this mission under penalty of court martial. Duncan had hesitantly signed his signature and so did everyone else. The question thereafter on everyone's mind was what exactly was so top-secret that it warranted waivers.

After that, Ackerson disappeared from the scene entirely, leaving everything to his liaison officer. Lieutenant Cordova personally briefed the Company on the new drop pod technology that would be implored in the upcoming operation. The Long-Range Stealth Orbital Insertion Pod, or LRSOIP, was a new variant of their own pods. Upon closer inspection, it really wasn't a pod at all, but as Cordova had put it: "The smallest manned UNSC ship capable of transitioning from slipspace into normal space safely."

The Stealth Pods were constructed from a simple Titanium A shell with a layer of heat resistant Lead Foil as additional protection for reentry. The real kicker was the Stealth Ablative Coating that allowed the Pod to avoid radar detection. Duncan spent some time considering how that worked since even while HEV's had a similar level of Lead Foil and ceramic skin, these features were subject to the intense reentry flames rudimentarily encountered on any drop. While the external skin burned away to protect the occupant from the extreme temperatures, sometimes the feature failed and the driver was sentenced to the horrors of Heat Death within their own pod. Considering that they would be exiting from slipspace, he wondered what other precautions there were to ensure that the alternate space's radiative effects didn't fry their pods' electronics and leave them tumbling helplessly towards a planet.

He quickly found out.

Lieutenant Colonel Garrison had come along for the trip since, unlike most Battalion Commanders, he had a direct leadership role as Company Commander for Bravo. He had worked with Cordova during the preliminary tests to choose the best ODST Teams to conduct the first drops. While modern Shock Troopers had since the HEV's introduction into service in 2461 to grow accustomed to piloting them, the ODSTs of Bravo Company had less than two months to do the same with the LROSIPs. That meant regular training drops from the Juno.

1st Platoon and the rest of Bravo Company had, every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday, found themselves launching from the Juno's drop bay into slipstream space. The fact the Juno was a Paris Class allowed for the entire Company to drop simultaneously. It was something impossible for smaller variants like the Stalwarts that had a more limited drop capacity, making the Paris more ideal for ODST operations.

The troopers would fall through slipspace in the wake of the Juno before transitioning into the Epsilon Eridani system just above Reach. They would hit the drop zone and quickly regroup, marking the end of the exercise.

They encountered problems early on. Not everyone transitioned at the same time or came out in the same place. That left drop formations more disorganized, an issue the Lieutenant Colonel had sought to rectify as time passed. Then there were some ODSTs that didn't transition at all. Since they started training, there were at least two shock troopers in Bravo Company who were confirmed to have dropped from the Juno but never emerged into real space: Private Aiden Dikes and Sergeant Taro Strawson. No one knew what happened to them and most understood that they likely never would. The trainings continued regardless.

Duncan had used the opportunity to integrate with the rest of Epsilon and observe the way they dropped. Everyone griped about the heat on the way down. Usually late into a drop, Yuri would delay pulling the chute until he reached just within the danger limit. While the Staff regularly ordered him against it, doing so made his pod burn as bright as a comet. The way he shouted in euphoric Russian on his way down made it almost seem fun. While Duncan surely wasn't going to try it himself, he couldn't say it wasn't interesting to look at.

On free days they worked on learning pod maintenance along with a team of Tech Specialists. While the pods were bulkier than regular HEVs, they were surprisingly easier to take care of than their predecessors. Duncan chalked that up to ONI being able to develop better gear on a whole for the standard trooper. It also made him wonder what else ONI could and had already made that they just weren't telling anyone about, creations held in secret that could possibly turn the tide of the war.

Today he was focused on memorizing the Stealth Pod's schematics inside the Juno's mess hall. While it was nighttime on Reach, it was breakfast time for the ODSTs and everyone was trying to eat fast before the day's training began. Duncan took a spoonful of cornmeal from his bowl after he read a paragraph on the Stealth Pod's schematics sent to an information pad. The Lieutenant had provided the pads to some of the NCOs for studying its functions and Duncan had asked the Staff for his.

"You sure you don't want to eat first, study later?" Rico asked, wiping the bacon grease off his mouth. "You've got time once we get back onboard."

"I'm multitasking." Duncan said through a mouthful of corn meal. "The last thing I want is for the pod to kick out on me before I've even transitioned."

Nova knifed through the second half of her omelet while side-eyeing Duncan. "Leave him be. If he wants a better chance of not ending up like Dikes or Strawson then more power to him."

"Nerd." Zack coughed.

Duncan didn't even look up from the screen. "A novice nerd's more useful on a mission than a dead dunce."

Zack choked on his coffee a little. Duncan gave him a competitive look and he smirked back, ready to meet the challenge. The moment Nova saw him about to open his mouth she took her fork and shoved a piece of her omelet into it, quickly shutting him up. Zack recoiled and gave a muffled scream as the egg steamed his tongue.

Nova and the rest of Epsilon laughed save for the Staff who walked up to the table with coffee in hand. "Now Specialist, what did I tell you about torturing our radiomen. If his tongue's seared, how's he going to talk properly to the people we need to hear from the most?"

"Sorry sir." She half-heartedly apologized.

The Staff looked past her, shook his head and pointed behind her.

Nova looked back to see Zack leaning over her plate with his mouth open, allowing a mush of fried eggs and diced vegetables to fall on the rest of her omelet. It fell painfully slowly. When he was done, he looked up and froze once he saw Nova glowering down at him with a murderous glint in her eyes.

He gave a nervous laugh.

Hector quickly intervened, wordlessly getting out of his seat to push Zack to the other side before sitting down between them, continuing to eat his bowl of cereal.

"If you think you've saved him, you haven't." Nova murmured, glaring down at her defiled breakfast.

"I know." Hector said simply, taking another spoonful of cereal. "Just delaying the inevitable."

The Staff didn't bother sitting down. Instead, he went over to Duncan. "Private, I need to speak with you."

Duncan put his bowl aside. "Is it the pad sir? You can have it back. I'm almost done but-"

"No." The Staff said. "The pad stays. You come."

The Staff Sergeant said nothing more as he strode for the door of the mess hall. Duncan peered at the others who gave him uncertain looks. He got up and followed the Staff through the exit. The two walked for a few minutes through the ship's halls, passing by crewmen on their way to stations and technicians handling corridor panels.

They stopped at a window somewhere in the Juno's midsection. Beyond the viewing glass, the bright green and blue globe that was Reach was no larger than a coin against the backdrop of stars.

The Staff spent a few moments staring out into the vastness of space and sipping his mug of coffee. When he was satisfied, he turned to Duncan, eyeing him with a good deal of suspicion.

"Do you know why I called you out here, Private?"

"No sir."

The Staff took another sip of his coffee. "I decided early on not to ask you how you felt about the Molnar because I wanted to see how you'd react to it overtime. You sure don't look it, but I've got a hunch that says you're good at hiding it when something bothers you." He placed his mug on the windowsill and turned to fully face him. "Long story short, I want to know what Private Duncan Iris' mental state is after seeing his first glimpse of action."

Duncan's brow furrowed. "Action sir?"

"Back in New Alexandria."

"…That counted? We didn't even fight."

The Staff scrutinized him further. "One thing you'll need to know out here is that action isn't drawn out heroics like any of the propaganda reels they show back on Earth. Out here, it happens" He snapped his finger. "Just like that. And just like that." He snapped again. "It's over. It's a split second that marks the difference between life and death. What I want to know is whether experiencing it for the first time either gave you a taste for it or knocked the fight out of you completely. If I don't find out now, it may compromise our combat capacity as a squad further down the road."

Duncan's gaze fell to the floor. "You want to know if I still have it in me to go back out there, sir?"

The Staff nodded. "I know the rest of the squad and most of their strengths and weaknesses. But I'm still gauging you."

"I'm no weak link sir." Duncan lightly laughed.

The Staff remained serious. "What I want to know, trooper, is what you were thinking when you were helping us move those dead bodies from the Molnar for half a day, non-stop. What I want to know is where your head's at."

Duncan swallowed, feeling his mouth go dry. He knew exactly what the man was asking for. He simply didn't know how to say it outright. He didn't want them to think he was a liability. He had what it took to be a trooper, he had made it this far, hadn't he? Duncan thought twice about it and reminded himself that that wasn't what was being asked of him either. What was being asked was what he thought. If the Staff had been monitoring him out of the corner of his eye for almost two months then there was little he could do to avoid telling the truth.

"I-… when we were at the site, I…honestly…wanted to throw up then and there." He looked at the Staff who nodded for him to go on. His attention turned to the distant planet.

"I've never been in combat or anything nearly as chaotic as that before so…it was a real shock to suddenly be seeing so much of it in one go. I remembered looking at everyone else. I was jealous that you guys seemed to be so unaffected by it…you just got the job done with no problems. It reminded me that I've still got ways to go, you know. At the time, I felt like I shouldn't have even been there."

He blinked at the last thought. "I remember staring back as we were leaving New Alexandria and thinking 'wow, what did I just get myself into?'"

When he was finished, he looked up to the Staff who was leaning against the wall, thinking on what he said. "Had any nightmares?"

"Yessir."

"I see." The Staff picked up the mug and took another long sip. "Did you actually ask anyone else what they were thinking after the bombing?"

Duncan shook his head.

"Then how would you know they weren't affected? Their visors were polarized, you couldn't see their faces, so how do you know that?"

Duncan froze where he stood. He didn't know how to answer.

"Don't get me wrong." The Staff sighed. "They're six of the toughest Helljumpers I've ever met. Some of them are so stiff necked that even an Elite would have trouble cutting through it. But as much as they're Shock Troopers, they're also still human. What you saw them do out there shows one of two things: either they've learned to hide it well or they've learned to harness it well."

"Harness it?'

"They use it." The Staff explained. "It acts as the motivation to help them get the job done because when it comes down to the wire, they know what their reason is for fighting. They drive it, they don't let it drive them."

Duncan recalled his nightmares that had haunted him for the last few weeks after the bombing. The Staff Sergeant's words cut like a surgeon's knife through a slumbering patient, precise and efficient.

"Can I ask you something, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"…Which do you do?"

The Staff looked at him with surprising casualness. "Depends on what time of day you ask me." He turned back to the window. "My point is that I want you to harness it. You'll need to for this upcoming op. That way, when you look down your gun sites at the faces of the people that bombed the Molnar, you won't hesitate."

Duncan understood what he was saying. Once they were on the ground and facing the enemy, there would be no going back. He had to have the resolve to pull the trigger before he got there and shape up before this war did it for him. He could wear the Helljumper BDU and have all the training to be called one, but to actually be one was a state of mind, one he was going to have to learn.

A woman's voice came on over the ship's communication systems, interrupting his thoughts.

"All Bravo Company personnel, please report to the drop bay on level E for scheduled training."

The message repeated two more times then stopped.

"Level E." Duncan sighed.

"E for eviction." The Staff said. "Time to go."

Footsteps coming from behind them caught their attention. They turned around to see none other than the Lieutenant Colonel walking unconcernedly down the hall towards them. They both quickly saluted as he came up to them and nodded in turn.

"Staff, Private."

"Good day sir." Duncan said. "Ready for the drop?"

"Always ready son." Garrison said. "You mind if I borrow your Staff Sergeant for a minute?"

Duncan quickly shook his head. "No sir, I'll be on my way."

"Thanks."

:********:

Duncan jogged off, heading for the nearest elevator. Garrison started off at a stroll and the Staff followed close behind.

"I think I've figured it out sir." Atell said.

Garrison looked at him with a curious smirk. "Really, and what's that?"

"Why you brought Iris along."

The Lieutenant Colonel's curious smirk slowly faded into a cool, contemplative grimace.

"The deployment orders sir, the mix-up wasn't an accident, was it?"

"No." Came the simple reply.

The Staff nodded, hesitated for a moment then continued. "During a conversation last month, I learned a thing or two about him. And not to change topics sir, but it's really the same topic. Remember way back when you used to tell me, Joels and Harper those stories?"

Garrison looked him in the eye. "Yes."

"Well sir…that name came up a few times."

The older ODST stopped for a moment, allowing the younger to go slightly ahead of him. He gave the Staff a look that was a mixture of intrigue and respect. "You don't miss anything do you? Really, I only wanted to speak with you because I was curious to see if you'd figured it out already. Tell me again why you're a Helljumper and not a detective?"

The Staff shrugged. "I found work where I could sir."

The comment earned a laugh that was shared between the two of them as they carried on towards the elevator.

"So, what about Private Iris, is he shaping up to be a promising addition to your squad?" Garrison asked.

The Staff nodded. "Harper and Joels say he needs some work, but we had to admit he's got a spark in him. But that's not really why you picked him, is it sir?"

Garrison slowly shook his head.

"Then…why exactly, from your point of view?"

The two arrived at the elevator and the Staff pressed the button for level E. Garrison caught sight of the viewing window and the vast space beyond.

"Why?" An aged memory played in his head. "Just an old promise."

He watched the doors close, sealing away the sight of the stars as they descended deeper into the ship.

:********:

"Three…two…Go! Go! Go!"

At the end of Garrison's countdown, the ODSTs of Bravo Company inside of their Stealth Pods launched from the Juno's drop bay like bullets being fired from a rifle. Duncan clenched his teeth against the jarring effect of the launch that caused him to bite his tongue on a few occasions.

He watched his pod and hundreds of others fall away from the heavy cruiser and into slipstream space. They fell in a spiral-like array, vaguely reminding him of a DNA strand as they headed through the void.

"Transition in thirty seconds." Garrison said over Company comms.

Zack came in over team freq. "Now for the hard part."

Duncan felt his pod beginning to rattle, jostling him from side to side. They had already had weeks of training to prepare for this but the unusually bumpy ride, more so than one could expect from a regular insertion, was almost impossible to get used to. It was like what he'd experienced when the pressure wave from the Molnar hit, then to drag out that experience for thirty seconds straight.

Duncan punched in the codes on a nearby pad that would begin the pod's transition sequence. He counted the seconds in his head: Twenty-five seconds…fifteen seconds…five seconds…

"Transition!" Garrison said over comms.

Duncan punched the green button that immediately entered the sequence. Through his pod's window he saw others ahead of him transition into normal space. A split-second later, his pod was enveloped in a bright flash of pale blue light, causing his helmet to polarize to compensate.

A heartbeat later his helmet depolarized as the stars winked on all around him. The closest star of Epsilon Eridani blazed sunlight through the viewport. After only being in the void for thirty seconds it still came as a relief to see daylight again.

A list of stellar coordinates appeared on one of his displays personalized to him and his squad.

"All Bravo Company personnel meet at your designated coordinates. Wedge formation, let's go."

Duncan pushed the pods joysticks forward and manipulated his rocket thrusters to plummet even faster towards Reach. The rest of Bravo Company were already assembling into a wedge formation with the Lieutenant Colonel at its descending tip. Duncan maneuvered his pod to fly just above the Staff's as the rest of Squad Epsilon and 1st platoon took up the rearguard of the formation.

They descended into the exosphere. Within 2 minutes the reentry flames had started and were licking over the Stealth Pods' frames. At 1 minute and 30 seconds Garrison ordered them to break up into their platoon clusters. Their initial wedge formation was to make sure they landed in relatively the same regional area. Breaking up into their platoon clusters was a necessary precaution taken later into the drop to keep ODSTs from landing on top of each other. It also kept them relatively close to their base units.

At 1 minute, everyone pulled their drag chutes. Multiple ODSTs whipped back in their pods as their insertion vectors slowed dramatically. Everyone except Yuri seemed to get the hint.

"Matchstick, get that drag chute out now." The Staff demanded.

"Matchstick do this, Matchstick do that, but no one ask Matchstick why he's called Matchstick!" Yuri said. "YA zhivu, chtoby goret'!"

He continued on ahead of them.

"Matchstick." The Staff said, sternness entering his voice.

A few tense seconds passed then Yuri's pod released its drag chute. He was still ahead of the rest of the formation but they were slowly catching up. Duncan could hear him laughing and shouting in his native tongue on his way down.

Duncan comm'd Hector. "Hey Heck?"

"Yeah?"

"Is he actually Bipolar?"

"You saw what he did. You tell me man."

The formation continued down to the surface, drifting slightly apart. They burst through the clouds, turning them into swiss cheese with the barrage of pods.

It was nighttime on this part of Reach. Below, Duncan could see their drop zone coming into view. It was an arctic landscape. There was a frigid sea near the horizon where icebergs the size of cruisers patrolled the waters.

At 50 meters the braking rockets on 248 pods activated. A second later they slammed into the frozen terrain. They blew off their hatches and leaped out with weapons at the ready.

Duncan blew off his hatch and jumped out into a foot of snow. He scanned the tundra plain around him through the scope of his M7. There was little save for a few snow mounds and other LRSOIPs landing nearby.

The Babd Catha Ice shelf was a barren snowscape with a 200-meter-tall cliff face over a kilometer away from where he'd landed. They had been constantly dropping here over the last two months as a sort of testing ground.

In the distance he could see the shadow of a pyramidal structure with segmented sides amidst the mountains of a distant land protrusion. He wasn't aware of any UNSC bases in the area and neither was anyone else he asked, but they decided to simply accept it was there rather than risk asking more questions that might get them offed.

A nav point appeared in his HUD at the base of a nearby snow mound. Duncan and the rest of Squad Epsilon winked their green acknowledgement lights and started towards it.

:********:

Colonel Ackerson watched from the balcony of an observation tower on the Babd Catha Ice Shelf as the ODSTs of Bravo Company began gathering up.

He was pleased at the progress they were making with the Stealth Pod training. On the other hand, he was concerned at the amount of time that had already passed since the discovery on Epsilon Eridani IV. Cordova had a team keep an eye on the movements of the individuals at the Meleonich Facility. So far there were no major developments. That meant they were still unaware of the large proverbial hammer that he was about to strike them with from orbit.

A door opened and Lieutenant Cordova stepped out, saluting. "The exercise for today is completed, sir."

"Casualties?"

"None this time, sir. Anchor 9 confirmed that all 248 pods successfully transitioned from slipspace."

"Good." He said, smiling at the results. "They're almost ready."

"Are we still looking at the 6th sir?"

Ackerson nodded. "We can't go any later than that. We need to finish this and quickly, that and it already cost me a pound of flesh just to use the ice shelf. And I think you know why."

Cordova glanced at the distant mountains and the pyramidal structure that was partially hidden with them. "I understand, sir."

She saluted again and moved for the door but stopped halfway in. "Also, Colonel, all the requested forces have arrived in system for the operation. As of now, they're all on standby."

Ackerson gritted his teeth then forced himself to relax. "All of them?"

"All of them, sir." She watched him closely.

The Colonel closed his eyes and breathed out. "…Good, very good."

But the subtle grimace on his face showed that it wasn't. He was swallowing his pride here in more ways than one. As he looked out to the squadrons of Pelicans that began arriving on the Babd Catha Ice Shelf to pick up the ODSTs, he hoped swallowing that pride now would allow him to resurrect it to even greater heights once this operation was over.

Provectus - Advanced


	12. Epsilon Eridani IV - Chapter 1 (Missio)

Chapter 1 - Missio

March 6th, 2544 (21:10 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, near Epsilon Eridani IV

In Slipspace aboard the UNSC Juno

:********:

Battlegroup Kilo had moved just to the edge of Epsilon Eridani IV's local space, off only by a few million kilometers, leaving the planet within range for Operation BAGMAN.

The lesser continent of Arany was currently enduring the grueling conditions of a seasonal typhoon. It was a dangerous insertion, but it would act as the perfect cover for the ODSTs.

Three days earlier, Colonel Ackerson, who they figured had been playing his cards close to his chest, had finally debriefed them on the full mission details. The drop would take place on Epsilon Eridani IV, one of the less populated planets in-system. Bravo Company would drop from the Juno and take out the 4 suspected Photo-Reflective Jammer Stations present on Arany. Doing so would expose the Meleonich Mining Facility to the STARS Satellites in orbit. From there, the rest of Task Force Kilo would be able to react accordingly and deploy ground forces to secure the facility.

Get in, hit the Jammers, get out. Duncan thought that was simple enough as his pod turned around in the drop bay alongside the rest of Bravo. Beneath him, the void of slipspace yawned wide.

The Lieutenant Colonel came in over Company comms. "Dropping in three…two…Go! Go! Go!"

The Stealth Pods launched from the Juno's drop bay like a fine spray. After several seconds everyone was clear of the ship and hurdling through the infinite darkness.

"Thirty seconds to transition." Garrison said.

Duncan braced. Immediately the vibrations began. His pod and everyone else's were subject to the violent tremors that always came at this point in the drop. Since they were radio-silent, he had to get used to the absence of griping over the comms. He punched the sequence into a display, rested his thumb on the green transition button and filled the silence by counting off the seconds in his head. Twenty-five…fifteen…five…

"Transition!"

Duncan pressed his thumb down on the transition button. He polarized his visor beforehand as the flash tossed him into real space.

Epsilon Eridani IV appeared below. Its surface was 65% water save for its two large continents connected by an isthmus. The smallest, Arany, was their target. Duncan increased the magnification on one of his displays which captured the large hurricane-like weather formation currently cycling through southeast Arany. Their drop zone was somewhere just beneath that.

A string of coordinates came onto another display showing him where he needed to be in the wedge formation. Duncan piloted his pod in that direction and came in alongside Deaks and Yuri. That was worrying. He hoped Yuri wouldn't try any stunts this time around. From what Ackerson had told them about who and what was waiting for them down there, there was no place for it.

Bravo Company carried on for another thirty seconds in the general direction of the typhoon before breaking up into their platoon clusters a minute earlier than usual. That was to compensate for the large weather disturbance that could potentially disrupt their drop early on. 1st and 2nd Platoons were close together since they were hitting the same target, the Southeast Jammer Station.

The regular reentry flames began at 2 minutes. At 1 minute they deployed their drag chutes. Duncan and probably the rest of Epsilon breathed a sigh of relief once they saw Yuri pop his chute as well. That meant he was at least taking this seriously. Thinking on it again, maybe their being relieved that he actually slowed down on time said something about him as an ODST. It was something Duncan found almost admirable, because while everyone else was busy jumping feet first into hell, Yuri preferred going headfirst.

At 30 seconds the troopers plunged through the murky clouds of the typhoon. Thunder roared like artillery batteries all around them. The inside of Duncan's pod darkened save for the lights from the buttons and interfaces lining its interior. Heavy rainfall pelted his viewport. A bolt of lighten flashed so close that his helmet was forced to polarize to maximum tint to protect him from being blinded outright. The resulting thunder rattled the pod.

At 10 seconds he emerged beneath the storm. The surface was left in a state of artificial nighttime due to the overhanging cloud cover, leaving him to make out the vague shapes of a dense forest. The occasional flash of distant lightening would illuminate the region, allowing him to make out the tropical foliage waiting below. It also let him see the other pods descending. But something was off. He looked closer and wondered why they were so distant. Then it clicked. They weren't distant, he was.

Duncan had no time to react before his braking thrusters activated. He crashed through the trunk of a thick tree like a missile. He took on a slight spin before hitting the ground. His momentum caused his pod to bounce. The braking thrusters, still active, made him skid several meters across the ground before crashing into the mouth of a small cave.

Duncan's vision swam with stars from the impact. He forced himself into alertness. He was on the ground, in enemy territory now. He looked to his viewport and was worried at seeing loose debris falling all over it. Then he saw them: glowing green eyes that winked open from the other side and stared into his pod.

He couldn't tell what it was because of the dark so he turned on his VISR mode. He never thought he could regret doing something so much in so short a time as he did in that moment.

The creature, whatever it was, looked like a profane hybrid between a Walrus and a Dog. Its brown fur bristled and its maw opened to bare two enormous tusks, ready to impale him.

Duncan quickly reached for the pod's weapon socket, pulled out his M7, flicked the safety and aimed at the creature. It bit down on the pod. Its powerful bite easily punched a hole through the glass big enough for the arm-sized tusks to get within a few centimeters of his chest plate.

With his pod compromised he chose to at least get out into the open where he would have a better chance of survival. He punched the explosive bolts and the hatch blew off. The animal, with its tusk still embedded in it, was carried along, its blubbery mass tumbling over the muddy ground.

Duncan leaped out and crouched behind the pod. He peeked out to observe the animal. It got back onto its hind legs and shook its head wildly. After a few tries it managed to free its tusks and toss the hatch aside. The lone ODST saw its predatory eyes lock onto him again. He checked his HUD to make sure his M7 had full ammo. Yet merely looking at the size of the creature told him it was useless.

Unfortunately, while they had briefed him on mission details, they had failed to inform him about the planet's wildlife. He briefly remembered what he did on that training run at the RTETC and considered whether the same result would apply here. The thunder would drown out any large explosion. He simply needed to time the lightening right.

Duncan was just about to reach for a Frag when he heard whimpering. He peered back at the creature and saw it galloping towards the cave. It disappeared deep inside.

Flashlights were coming through the forests. None of the other pods should have been close enough for anyone from his team to already be here. Unless... He fell back and went prone behind a line of bushes.

Two men walked out of the forest with flashlights in one hand and MA5B Assault Rifles in the other. They centered their lights on the cave and then on the pod embedded in the entrance. They brought their rifles to bare and slowly approached it. Unbeknownst to them, a suppressor poked through the grass several meters away, tracking them.

The VISR mode painted the two contacts in a shade of red, confirming they weren't friendly. Duncan already suspected as much by what they wore. They sported a kind of cut-down ballistic armor with regular fatigues. He realized that it was actually a bastardized version of the BDU that Marine's wore. More importantly, if the VISR was recognizing them as hostiles then that was confirmation that they lacked the standard UNSC neural interface that would have ID'd them as friendlies. But how had they gotten their hands on the armor?

One of them put a finger to his helmet. Duncan caught on and listened in via the same bandwidth used by wearers of the Marine BDU.

"It's pretty big. I saw some tracks from that creepy Dog-thing outside. This piece of junk probably woke it up. How'd this even get out here?"

"I think the better question is what we're even looking at."

A revelation crossed Duncan's mind that if they were able to use their comms to speak with each other, they could also speak with a localized authority or HQ. He needed to act fast before they reported back and compromised the entire operation. Ackerson had explained to them what the rules of engagement were: anyone they found armed was free game because no one was supposed to be down here to begin with.

He remembered what the Staff had told him about not hesitating when he saw the enemy in his sites. He took a breath to steady himself then squeezed the trigger, firing two 3-round-bursts into the back of the closest one. The man stiffened then fell forward in a lifeless heap. A heartbeat later, Duncan squeezed off another burst that caught the second in the face as he was turning to see where the shots were coming from. He too collapsed.

Duncan watched the area around him for a full minute to make sure there were no reinforcements. When he felt comfortable enough to step out, he went over to the bodies and crouched down beside them. A quick read on their individual pulses told him they were both neutralized. He took one of their helmets and removed the communication chip from the back. A preliminary investigation of the fingernail sized wafer of silicon confirmed it was intact. He took a risk and carefully inserted it into the back of his helmet.

A screen appeared on his HUD presenting data on the various communications recorded by the chip during its use. This was UNSC hardware as well. He was curious as to how they had gotten their hands on the tech. He saw the most recent conversation had happened five minutes ago and let it play while he carried on through the bushes, heading in the direction where the two he presumed were Insurrectionists had come from.

He multitasked, navigating through bushy undergrowth and under the thick foliage of towering Kapok trees and smaller Rubber trees. At the same time, he listened to a conversation between unknown men. From what he could make out, the two he dispatched earlier were a part of a team of four sent to investigate an outlying communication tower. It was at least a kilometer further east of the 'Station'. A power outage at the tower made them believe it had been taken out by the adverse weather so the first two were sent ahead on foot to reach it. That must have been when they spotted the damage left in the wake of his pod and came over to check it out.

Duncan came to a bend in a wide dirt road. The way it cut through the forest allowed him to witness the fierce downpour coming from the typhoon. A strong easterly gale was also pushing against him, forcing him to hold onto a low branch to stay balanced.

He scanned both directions to make sure it was clear. There were at least two others wondering around out here so he had to be on his guard. More importantly, he needed to rendezvous with the rest of Epsilon near the target building. From where he'd landed, he could tell that he was the closest to the actual Jammer Station, meaning it may be a while before he spotted anyone else. He decided getting as close to it as possible would give him the best chance of seeing them coming.

As he dashed to the other side, he barely noticed the flatbed truck that came careening down the road. He was already in the middle by the time its headlights hit his visor and its speed fully registered. It was a green-tinted Spade Truck and it was baring down on him, too fast to evade. They had him dead to rights.

A 14.5 by 114 millimeter round punched through the windshield, nailing the driver and causing the vehicle to swerve to the left. Duncan threw himself to the side as it drove past and slammed headlong into a thick tree trunk.

Sparks flew from the vehicle's busted engine and a vaporous smoke flowed out from beneath the hood. Duncan saw someone fall from the passenger seat. The man was bloodied but very aware. The two spotted each other and reached for their weapons. Neither got off the first shot as another high caliber round flashed through the man's skull in a spray of blood. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped to his knees.

Duncan looked around to see where the shot had come from. The two Insurrectionists in the truck were both suppressed which meant it was likely a friendly. The fact he wasn't on the ground with a third eye of his own yet was good evidence to suggest as much.

Someone opened up a direct comm-link to him, squelching the radio two times to create duel bursts of static. That was the signal not to open fire. Whoever it was had to be aware of the mission's demand for radio-silence. That meant they were definitely friendly.

He looked around a bit more and spotted a figure rappelling down the vines from a tall tree with an SRS on their back. They descended ten meters to the road.

By the time they jogged up to him, Duncan could tell it was Deaks. The sheathed meat cleaver on his back was a dead giveaway.

The Corporal, dressed in his own BDU, gave him a two-fingered salute, one he returned with thanks.

Rustling in the nearby tree line got his attention and Duncan brought up his M7. Deaks rest his hand on the barrel and gently pushed it down, sending him another 'don't shoot' signal.

Silhouettes emerged from the forest. Duncan recognized them quickly as three ODSTs, likely the rest of Epsilon. On the other side, three more troopers stepped out of the bushes. The largest of them stopped to inspect the crashed Spade and shook his head at the damage.

They kept an eye out for any more vehicles as they gathered up on the roadside. The Staff easily stood out thanks to the red accents on his armor. He cocked his head at Duncan and jabbed a finger at him, probably a quiet way of scolding him for landing so far from everyone else. Duncan gave an apologetic nod.

As per the mission's requirements, no one was allowed to use their comms until they were in position at the Jammer Stations. The Staff uploaded the Nav Marker to their TAC Maps which let them know where they were relative to the objective. They had a 300 meter walk left ahead of them. The troopers winked their acknowledgement lights and filed in behind the Staff in a long-range reconnaissance patrol or LRRP formation.

They headed along the road, jogging at certain points when they were sure the way was clear. The Staff and Deaks took point while Hector and Rico watched the rear of the formation.

At 150 meters the road ceased to wind around and led straight down, stripping away any cover they could get from the forest. The Staff had them foot their way through the wilderness rather than risk the alternative. The muddy earth and resistant undergrowth created natural barriers that were difficult to pass. It thankfully wasn't enough to stop them. The ground inclined more and more until they reached their position atop a small ridgeline overlooking a low-lying area.

Squads Eagle and Echo were already setting up overwatch positions near the edge. Some of the ODSTs nodded to at them as they arrived.

Beyond the ridge was the target building. The Photo-Reflective Jammer Station was a square building three stories tall. The roof was a series of reflective metallic panels with a silvery sheen. On top was a large satellite dish whose interior was lined with the same reflective panels pointed up towards space. The rain pooled inside the dish and washed back out in a continuous stream.

The building was surrounded by a wide perimeter fence with razor wire. A number of armed guards patrolled the roadways inside. They occasionally came within sight via the red floodlights mounted to the walls of the Jammer Station before disappearing again behind the shadows of smaller support buildings, equipment barracks and transport vehicles.

The Staff used his comms. "This is Ep-1 to 1-Actual, Epsilon is in position, over."

"Copy, Ep-1." Harper said, waving at him from where she sat near the ridge. "We see you. We're just waiting for Hotep and Hotel to get in position. Tell Ep-3 to start picking his targets."

"Understood."

The Staff turned to Deaks who nodded back and started setting up his sniper.

Squads Hotep and Hotel were part of 2nd platoon who were supposed to help 1st platoon in assaulting the Southeastern Jammer Station. The other platoons from Bravo were also operating in a similar binary-unit style to hit the other three Jammers.

So far, only Squad Horus was in place on the opposing ridgeline. The waiting wouldn't stop once they got in place, however, because they needed the rest of Bravo to also be ready. It would be a single, synchronized attack on all fronts.

Duncan noticed the Lieutenant Colonel lying prone amongst the rest of the 1st thanks to his larger, left shoulder pauldron accented by a white Death's Head. He noticed that without it, Garrison would probably have blended right in. The others were simply keeping an eye on out on the station, not even phased by the fact that their overall commanding officer was right beside them.

"Heads up 1st platoon, Hotep and Horus just arrived." Garrison said over Company Comms. "Alright, all platoons are in place. Bravo, move into position. Once your unit sharpshooters neutralize most of the security, advance on the Jammers."

Like everyone else, Duncan checked his weapon, ejecting the half-spent clip and slapping in a new one before joining his squad assembling near the slope of the ridge.

"Three…two…one…greenlight, greenlight."

The ODSTs moved out, leaving Deaks and another sniper behind. The groups remained hidden as they advanced down the foliage-covered slope. Once they reached the base of the incline, they spread out into a line with two meters space between each trooper. Then they slowly advanced through the trees towards the distant perimeter gates.

As they went, Duncan could overhear Deaks on the comms.

"Ep-3 to Echo-5, Hotel-7 and Hotep-3, I've got eyes on at least 16 guards here. Confirm, over."

"This is Hotep-3, add about 4 more to the count. We've got a crew stationed near the motor pool playing cards."

"Ep-3, I see'em. Got my sites on the one sitting on the hood of the flatbed."

"Echo-5, I've got my eyes on the ole smokey lighting up next to him."

"Hotel-7, I'm calling Curly Hair crouching near the first two. …Man…this guy's got a pretty good hand. Sure we can't let him play it first?"

"No." Came the simple reply from Hotep-3. "And I've got his friend with the sword tats. Seeing what this guy's packing, he's gonna wipe the floor with Curls anyway. Might as well spare him the embarrassment."

"How good?"

"Royal Flush."

"Dang, poor guy won't know what hit him after that."

"On three." Deaks said. "One…two…"

Duncan heard a suppressed shot fly overhead, barely perceptible over the rumbling thunder.

"Their down…wait, someone finish off Curls."

"Hotel-7, I've got it…okay who's next?"

"Echo-5 to Ep-3, I'm looking at a two-man patrol passing near the southern gate. I'm tracking the left one now, over?"

"…I see them. Okay, I've got the one on the right. Wait until they walk out of that floodlight and behind the containers."

Three seconds passed then Duncan heard another subtle shot wisp overhead.

"Patrol neutralized. Move on to the next one."

It carried on like that for a full minute as the rest of the ODSTs advanced on the fence. By the time they had reached the forest' edge, the snipers were still going at it.

"Hotel-7 to Ep-3, see those 2 hanging around the Orange car? I've got the right one."

"Ep-3, I see them. I've got the guy on the left."

"That orange car looks pretty nice, right?"

Another shot.

"It's a red car now."

Hotel 7 whistled in astonishment over comms. "Wooo! Two for one, not bad, Ep-3. That's less work for me."

"This is Hotep-3, my corner's clear."

"Echo-5, same on my end."

"Ep-3 to Neptune-Actual, greenlight on the Jammer Station, over."

"Understood." The Lieutenant Colonel responded then switched to Company comms. "1st Platoon, 2nd Platoon, have your breaching teams move in on the doors. Everyone else hold your positions on the perimeter. Let's move."

The troopers emerged from the forest. Several of them pulled out wire-cutters, quickly forming holes in the wire that the ODSTs stormed through.

Duncan joined the rest of Epsilon on the other side as they headed for the Jammer Station while Squads Eagle and Echo stayed behind to form defensive positions. On the way, they passed over the bodies of those the snipers had taken out. Duncan spotted two guards slumped over opposite sides of the hood of an orange car, their blood painting the vehicle a dark crimson.

The squad came up the steps onto the porch surrounding the first level. The Staff pointed to Rico and Nova then to the door. The two nodded and manned either side while the rest of the squad stacked up against the wall behind them.

Rico was about to tie a breaching charge to the doorknob when Nova held up a finger. He stared at her incredulously as she reached for the handle and twisted it, earning a light click.

Nova turned back to Rico. He shook his head, sighing over comms. "Buzzkill."

"Hotep-5" Nova comm'd. "Try the nob first."

A few seconds later Hotep-5 comm'd in. "Door's open." He said, half-laughing. "Guess we're going in quiet."

Nova looked to the Staff who nodded. She quietly opened the door and stepped inside, her M7 leading. Rico followed her in. Then, two at a time, the rest of the squad filtered inside until Hector brought up the rear.

The hallway they entered reminded Duncan of the WMD Retrieval Exercise back at Ravenport. Thankfully, this time the lights were on. They checked one room at a time, clearing the empty ones. The first level seemed to be primarily comprised of empty barracks. The occasional straggler they came across found themselves on the receiving end of suppressed led if they saw the ODSTs and raised a rifle or pistol. Those that didn't see them coming were caught in unbreakable chokeholds by gauntleted arms until they passed out. Zack secured them with plastic handcuffs on their arms and legs so they wouldn't be any trouble.

They cleared their half of the first floor easily enough and met up with Squad Hotep at the stairs, then proceeded to the second floor. They gunned down those they needed to and restrained the unwary and those that surrendered without protest. None were ever able to scream.

They went up on the third floor and repeated the process with everyone they came across.

It wasn't long before both squads had stacked up on either side of a reinforced metal door that had to lead to the control center. Rico and the Hotep's demolition specialist scrutinized it. Nova reached over and finagled with the knob just to make sure, although she caught a wag of the finger from Rico.

"Not this time, Dama Roja." He said. "This one requires a more…delicate touch."

He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a square breaching charge the size of his helmet. He worked with Hotep's specialist to prepare it. Once it was ready, they lightly pushed it against the door which caused its sticky-underside to adhere. While he let his coworker retreat, Rico nodded to the Staff to get ready. He pressed the large red button on the center and rushed to the side.

A second later the door exploded inward, the large slab of metal flying through the air and hitting something inside.

"Go! Go! Go!" The Staff said.

The ODSTs stormed into what was a U-shaped room. The door had actually landed on one of the persons working inside, rendering him unconscious. With weapons raised, they turned on their external comms and shouted at the people within to get down. There were at least a dozen tech personnel sitting at their console stations. They turned to the incoming troopers with a look of shock and horror. One of them closer to the far end got up and pulled out her pistol. A second later her bullet-riddled body fell to the floor.

The other 11 were a bit smarter and held their hands up. The ODSTs patted them down and snapped plastic handcuffs onto them before leading them out of the room.

"Ep-8, get on it." The Staff said.

Duncan gave him the thumbs up. Now came his part in the mission. He searched around the consoles and spotted the one he was looking for. The display showed the Jammer's various output readings. He walked over and from one of his pockets he took out the chip known as the Loki Suite. The suite was a special infiltration software made courtesy of the Office of Naval Intelligence. He found a port and inserted it.

As the software booted up, the Staff comm'd the Lieutenant Colonel. "Ep-1 to Neptune-Actual, the Southeast Jammer Station is secured, sir."

"Good." Garrison said. "On my way up."

He stepped into the control center a minute later. His attention quickly went to the window view that spanned the semicircular section of the U-shaped room.

"Have you put in the Loki-Suite yet?"

"Yessir" The Staff said. "Ep-8's already on it."

By then Duncan's fingers were already hammering away at the keyboard, interfacing with the Jammer Station's systems through the Loki Suite. It acted as a kind of trojan horse against the restriction software patrolling the system.

He had gotten to read up a bit on the specs of how these stations worked, studying a file made available to him every morning, noon and night for the last three days.

There were also Cryptoanalysts in the other platoons who were working right about now to infiltrate the system. Their jobs were to shut down the camouflaging equipment while keeping the station online. That way the people at the Meleonich didn't catch on to the fact they were being infiltrated.

Garrison came up beside him. "How are we doing, son?"

Duncan bit his lower lip as he worked through a tedious firewall. "I'm almost into this station's main access terminal using a few proxy accounts generated by the Loki Suite. This software's a work of genius, sir, honestly."

The Lieutenant Colonel stared in amazement at the data-streams that passed over the display. "The fact you understand what any of that means makes you just as much of a genius, kid." He slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Thank you, sir."

Garrison turned to the Staff. "The other Jammer Teams are already waiting."

"Got it!" Duncan said, entering in a final stream of numerical code into a dialogue box linked to the central server. He hovered his finger over the 'Enter' button and turned expectantly to the Lieutenant Colonel.

Behind his visor, the older ODST grinned with satisfaction then spoke over Company Comms. "All Jammer Teams enter the kill code on my mark. Three…two…mark."

Duncan pressed the Enter button. Immediately the screen lit up as it showed the output meters of the Jammer Stations' camouflaging equipment slowly going down. Duncan opened a screen on another console and had it show the progress of the other Jammer Stations. The readouts from their camouflaging equipment was also on the decline.

Duncan huffed in amazement. "And…they're…down!"

The last output readings ended in '0%' across the board.

Garrison breathed a sigh of relief. So did Duncan. Their job here was done. Now for the main show.

"This is Ep-3 to Neptune-Actual." Deaks came in over Company Comms. "Ugh…did we order another 4 Pods, sir?"

"What are you looking at, Ep-3?" Garrison asked.

"Four stealth pods inbound." A trace of concern entered his voice. "They're…headed straight for the Meleonich."

Garrison saw a door and strode outside onto a balcony surrounding the control center. Duncan shifted over to the windows of the room and looked up. Sure enough, he saw 4 Stealth Pods, they're pods, zooming through the clouds, headed straight for the Meleonich.

"Ep-8, heil those pods now!" Garrison growled.

Duncan tried but got no response. "Nothing sir. They've got friendly IFFs…but they're not ODST."

Garrison growled in irritation and tried using Company Comms. "Stealth Pods in route to the Meleonich, identify yourself immediately!"

What happened next no one quite understood. The Stealth Pods answered, but not verbally. Rather, an automated code appeared on their HUDs.

'Code-3-9-2'.

Duncan recognized it. It was a simple UNSC code that told the receiver that the sender was on a high priority mission and unable to communicate. It was used often by Prowlers to ignore hails from other ships when they were on missions. "Sir?"

He was caught off guard by the way the Lieutenant Colonel just stared up at the pods. At length he answered, his voice cold and somewhat confused. "Who…are they?" That was all he managed to say before one of the monitors near Duncan sounded an alarm. He dashed over to investigate. When he realized what he was looking at his eyes went wide.

"Sir, a ship just arrived into local space."

That caught Garrison's attention. He strode back inside and joined the Staff as they gathered around Duncan.

"Is it ours?" He asked.

Duncan could only shake his head. "Someone else. The systems' ship registries identified it as a merchant-class vessel called 'The Omen'".

A moment later a communication display winked on.

Duncan felt his mouth go dry. He slowly turned to the Staff and the Lieutenant Colonel. "They're…hailing us."

Garrison took off his helmet and ran a hand over his white hair as looked out to the cloudy skies overhead. He sighed under his breath. "What is going on here?"

Missio - Mission


	13. Epsilon Eridani IV - Chapter 2 (Dis)

Chapter 2 - Dis

March 6th, 2544 (21:37 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Epsilon Eridani IV

Near the Meleonich Mining Facility

:********:

"Where's Officer Lansky? I need to speak with her."

Garrison scratched his head as he stared at the active comm station. "Like I told you sir, Lansky's out for the day. I'm her replacement."

On the other end of the link, the captain of The Omen went silent, seemingly considering something. He spoke again. "Is the shipment ready? It already cost me an arm and a leg to get this far in without getting tracked by the UNSC."

Garrison gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry Cap, the shipment's been delayed."

"You're kidding." The captain huffed in frustration "You guys can't be serious!"

"We're sorry but-"

"Sorry? Sorry!? You want me to pop a squat this close to Reach for an hour and that's all you got!? Listen new guy, you better get Lansky from whatever hole she crawled down into and get her on the line now, or I promise that I'm gonna make life hell for you! You get me!?"

Garrison was unimpressed. He'd heard better threats against his life before. He glanced over at the dead body of the female officer that had tried to pull out her pistol. She was still staring up at the ceiling, splotches of her own blood covering the 'y' in Lansky on her nametag.

"I'll get her as soon as I can sir." Garrison said. "Just please wa-"

The Omen's Captain shut off the comm-link, leaving the Lieutenant Colonel to stare with feint annoyance at the console. He turned to Duncan who was still sitting at a nearby station watching the whole exchange.

"And you're sure the main facility didn't here that?"

Duncan nodded. "It seems the Jammer Stations also second as communication mediums for the main facility. I made sure no one over there heard anything over here, so we're still golden, sir."

"Right." Garrison sighed and slid his helmet back on. "That's one problem we won't have to deal with for a minute. Time for the other one."

Minutes earlier Garrison had decided to take the call from the Omen. While it was a risk, they needed to know what the ship's purpose was relative to the mining facility. Now at least, they had a better clue and, in summation, a better picture of the entire operation on Epsilon Eridani IV. It was easy enough to put the dots together that the 'shipment' the Omen's captain sought was likely gold. From what he had said about being so close to Reach, it suggested that the Meleonich may be exporting gold beyond the supposed account linked to the Molnar. What was left was to secure the facility itself and find how expansive this whole thing was. Then again, there were those four pods from earlier that were possibly about to throw a wrench into everything.

Zack arrived in the control center with his back-mounted radio. He saluted. "You asked for me, sir?"

"Yes." Garrison said. "Ep-7 get me a line to the Batavia. They should still be out of local space."

Zack nodded and reached behind his back. He pulled the radio's tractable antennae up from its socket and twirled a dial on the side of the device. After a few minutes of work with his Smartlink to the radio, he gave the thumbs up. The Long-Range Communication's device would be able to connect them to their allies off-world thanks to a few upgrades provided by the ONI Tech Specialists.

"The call's gone out sir. I've patched you in."

Garrison waited until the link was answered. "This is Neptune-Actual, do you read me, over?"

After three seconds of silence, the Colonel answered. "I hear you. What's the situation on the ground Neptune-Actual?

"Three things sir. First, we've managed to neutralize all four Jammers and they're down. Second-"

"I'm aware of the four additional pods." Ackerson cut in, his voice an icy chill though Garrison couldn't tell if it was directed at him or not.

"I'm also aware of the Merchant-Class Freighter in orbit. We overheard your conversation with the Captain. Nice work buying time."

Garrison was caught off guard by the fact he knew so much already. What was even the point of a situation report. He had to remind himself that Ackerson was ONI. "Well sir, that's about it. Will the Task Force proceed as planned in accounting for the Omen or we are changing tactics?"

"We're changing tact, Neptune-Actual. I'm about to have the Task Force enter local space. We'll handle the Omen. I need your Bravo Company to capture the four bridges linking the terrain to the main compound. Since STARS has a better view of the facility, I've decided against landing straight in. It's too risky. Instead, the 202nd Marines will deploy with the 75th Armored on the outskirts then crossover using the bridges. Do you read me, Neptune-Actual?"

Garrison considered it for a heartbeat, trying to reorganize the plan around the new objectives. "Understood Colonel, we'll get the job done."

"Move swiftly Neptune-Actual, you've got 25 minutes. Ackerson out."

:********:

"And here I thought our job here was done." Duncan heard Deaks say over team comms as Squad Epsilon jogged along the road.

"An ODST's job is never done, Ep-3." The Staff replied. "We just work a different shift after the last one."

"What does that mean?" Duncan asked.

Zack, who was further up in the column, turned to answer him while jogging backwards. "It's a nice way of saying we're overworked and underpaid."

Nova grabbed the radioman by the shoulder and forced him to turn around.

"Gotta agree with Little Z," Rico chimed in. "The bridges weren't part of the plan. Now the Colonel's just figuring things out as he goes. So, did we really have a plan to begin with?"

"We've got a plan." The Staff corrected. "Ackerson just adjusted it with new information."

"I hope it's the right call." Deaks added.

"Better be." The Staff said. "Cause we're already here."

Everyone looked up and spotted the structure through the tops of the trees. The objective was about 200 meters ahead of them. Once they got closer the full visage of the bridge came into view. It was a draw bridge that spanned over a 50-meter deep chasm that had to have been artificially made since it encircled the entirety of the facility, cutting it off from the rest of the region. On the other side, the majority of the Meleonich itself remained shrouded in darkness thanks to the overhanging typhoon. While it cut off visibility, the weather was also a double-edged sword. It gave them the cover they needed to get within 50 meters of the bridge without being detected.

Epsilon had another 7 minutes before their time was up and the Task Force pulled into the atmosphere. 1st Platoon was somewhere behind them on standby in case they needed the extra help. The other bridges were probably about to be under assault any minute now as well.

The ODSTs stopped within the tree line to observe. There was a stretch of open ground that they would have to cross before reaching the bridge. There were no immediate obstacles for them to deal with save for the four Insurrectionists manning the two Warthogs right at the threshold. From their position the two turrets could quickly cutdown any attack before they could even get close since the open ground gave them a 180-degree field of fire. The fact that there were two guns to deal with meant that those fields of fire overlapped. Their wielders actively swiveled them from left to right, undeterred by the rain and wind.

To add to their number were four guards manning the four bridge towers, two on either side and one guard in each.

"We'll have to take them out first." The Staff said. "Those Towers look like they can control it. If we don't secure them, we risk losing the bridge. Ep-3?"

Deaks had already braced his rifle against a tree and was adjusting his oracle scope. "I can hit all four from here, boss."

"Good." The Staff turned to the others. "Ep-3, you'll go first. Ep-2, you and me are taking out the drivers. Ep-4 and 5, left gunner. Ep-6, 7 and 8, you take the right. Then we move on the bridge."

The squad's acknowledgement lights winked on.

A second passed, then Deaks fired off a shot, hitting the first guard in one of the closest of the two towers. The bullet pierced through the window and exited out the other side in a bloody spray, quiet as a whisper. Deaks slipped the next round through the second guard's brain then another through the throat of the third. He fired the last shot just as the fourth guard was turning in his seat. Instead of plunging through his eye it hit him in the shoulder. He winced and fell out of his chair, out of sight.

"Crap!" Deaks hissed. He quickly turned to the Staff and did a cutting gesture across his neck.

"Great." The Staff grumbled. He turned to the others and pumped his fist twice, then pointed to the Hogs.

Gauntleted fingers pulled their triggers as the four-man team near the gate's entrance fell under a new storm, one of bullets in the place of rain and multiple muzzle flashes in the tree-line rather than lightening flashes from the clouds. The two drivers slid out of their seats into the muddy earth as they became human bullet-sponges. One of the gunners also fell from his turret as the rounds tore through him. The fourth, however, had the fortune to survive the initial barrage with only a shot to the thigh and quickly maneuvered the LAAG towards the trees.

"Cover!" The Staff said. The ODSTs backed up behind the thick bark of the trees a second before streams of high-caliber fire peppered their positions, pruning the branches around them of their vegetation and biting off chunks of wood from their cover.

"We can't get pinned here! Ep-3, get a shot on that gunner!"

"On it!"

The Shock Troopers peeked out when they could to trade fire while Deaks crawled through the undergrowth at their feet, trying to reach a better vantage point. Then the loud groan of interlocking metal gears caught everyone's attention.

Behind the Gunner, the draw bridge was active. Both sides of it were slowly rising up, leaving a growing gap between them.

"Ep-3!" The Staff, alarmed at the bridge, rounded on the distant sniper just as he fired off a final shot. The last turret fell silent.

"Greenlight on the bridge." Deaks said.

The Staff slid around his tree cover. Seeing the bridge still rising he placed a Nav-Marker at the threshold. The rest of the squad winked their acknowledgement lights and emerged in unison from the tree-line. They strode towards the objective while keeping their eyes out in case any more threats materialized. So far, the singular threat they faced was the fact that by the time they got onto their side of the bridge, it would be too far removed from the opposite side for them to jump.

Nova rushed into one of the towers and raced up to the top. She appeared in the window seconds later and shook her head. "It's no good, the guy on the other side must have overridden it."

The Staff didn't waste a moment on the news and placed a Nav-Marker on one of the Hogs. "Ep-8 get on the Gun! Ep-4 get the wheel!" He shouted, racing for the vehicle. "We're jumping this thing!"

Duncan and Hector followed close behind and hopped into their stations while the Staff took shotgun. Hector turned them around to face the bridge. By then they were looking at a steepening incline.

Hector slammed his boot down on the accelerator, sending them rocketing up the acute bridgeway. The tough tires clutching the surface groaned in protest at the stress. Duncan grabbed the turret's handles to keep from falling back, his legs practically dangling over the edge. The bridge had almost risen to a ninety-degree angle as they reached the top.

Hector pushed the gas to the breaking point. "Here we go!"

The Hog arced through the air and over the gap. Their momentum carried them to the other side. The wheel's screeched across the surface as Hector eased off the accelerator and started to break. But the acceleration was too much. The Hog tipped forward and tumbled end over end down the remaining length of the bridge. Duncan had to crouch down and hug the stalk of the LAAG to keep from being thrown free or crushed. The world briefly spiraled around him then came to a jarring stop as they crash-landed at the bottom of the bridge. He gave thanks that the vehicle proved to be more cat-like than Hog-like since they landed wheels-first. The fact it was still operational after that was a miracle.

Duncan risked getting back onto the Gun, peaked through his weapon's sites and grimaced.

A few meters away were a dozen armed guards who had stopped just short of the bridge. They had probably come to investigate the shooting on the other side. The last thing they'd expected was to see one of their own Hogs jumping the near-vertical incline and surviving the landing, or to see three Orbital Drop Shock Troopers staring right back at them from the seats.

The troopers were the first to shake of the shock at the situation. Duncan and the Staff opened fire, the former using long bursts while the Staff picked out the more heavily armed in the group. Four out of the response team had been dropped before the others finally responded, scattering for cover and returning fire.

Hector steered over to the closest bridge tower and whipped out his own assault rifle to get in on the action.

"Ep-8, get the bridge controls and bring it down, now!" The Staff said, leaping out.

Duncan flashed his acknowledgement light and jumped off the turret, leaving the man to free to hop on and shower the enemy in suppressing fire. He headed for the nearby tower. He kicked in the door and cleared the inside. There was a staircase leading to the top. He dashed up the stairs while remaining vigilant of the upper levels.

He found the door on the top floor locked, shot off the hinges and slammed his armored body through the frame. The room inside was clear save for the man lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor. His hand rested on a red lever. He had likely pulled it to raise the bridge right before he bled out.

Duncan grabbed the lever and pulled it to the opposite end. The bridge's interlocking gear mechanisms came to life once more. He came to a window and saw the two separate parts of the bridge starting to descend.

"Ep-8 to Ep-1, the bridge is coming back down, sir." Duncan came over to where he could see the Staff and saw him and Hector holding out against a growing number of Insurrectionists. The Staff refocused on one building where a line of windows was being used as a vantage point and fired into them in a long strafe. Broken glass and blood flew out.

"Good. Epsilon, rendezvous at our position the moment you're able to cross. We need to hold this side of the bridge until reinforcements arrive."

"Reinforcements are already here." Harper said over comms. "Figured you guys could use a hand once you went loud."

Duncan ran back to the window to see ODSTs leaping from one side of the bridge to the next even before it had fully descended. There was more than Squad Epsilon's far share of manpower coming over, meaning Squads Eagle and Echo had committed to the fight. The troopers slid down the other side and ran over to form a semicircular perimeter around the Hog. They greeted the guards shooting at them with the same courtesy, although with far more precise lethality.

Duncan joined in and fired on the growing number of enemy's that had started to gather in the surrounding structures of the Meleonich.

"1-Actual to 1st platoon." Harper said. "We hold this position until our backup arrives. Until then, we secure this as our foothold. Let's go!"

:********:

Colonel Ackerson stood on the bridge of the UNSC Batavia as it emerged from the darkness of slipspace and into Epsilon Eridani IV's local space. The planet loomed in front of them, and so did the merchant ship called The Omen. The freighter was already in their sights, easy pickings for a single MAC strike or Archer Missile barrage. He could have even had one of the ship's two SHIVA-class nuclear missiles launched at it to obliterate it and its crew on a whim. The very notion that he had so much power ready to rain down over such an unsuspecting foe gave him a tinge of amusement that had festered in the back of his mind since the Lieutenant debriefing. But as much as he enjoyed the thought, that wasn't what was required for this situation. The situation required diplomacy, and if all else failed, brute force.

He had led the entirety of Task Force Kilo on a short slipspace jump towards the planet, covering several million kilometers in a span of about five seconds. He had barely noticed the transition at all. Now, the battlegroup of three Paris-Class Heavy Cruisers were bound for the upper atmosphere.

As he had ordered its captain to do beforehand, the Orion didn't waste anytime once it returned to real space and bared down on the Omen.

Ackerson turned to the Communication's Officer on the Batavia. "Is the channel open?"

The woman nodded back from her console. "We should be able to hear them, sir."

"Good." Ackerson said and listened in.

The Captain of the Orion hailed the Omen. "This is UNSC Navy ship Orion to Merchant-Class Freighter 'Omen', we're coming aboard your ship. Disengage your slipspace drive and all onboard weapons immediately or we will fire on you."

The threat was met with radio-silence. The Captain tried again. "This is UNSC- "

This time the answer came as the Batavia's Weapon's Officer flinched. "Multiple heat-signatures detected along the Omen's Hull. Sir, they've got Archer Missiles and preparing to fire."

Captain Leodis, an older Naval officer currently under Ackerson's command, stood ram-rad straight in his command chair. "Prepare a MAC Round. Doyle, get me firing coordinates on that ship."

"That won't be necessary." Ackerson said with amazing calm, so much so that it inadvertently unnerved the bridge crew. Everyone inclusive of Leodis stared at him in confusion while the Colonel himself observed the lessening gap between the Omen and the Orion.

"But sir." The Captain protested. "We-"

"We've already won this fight, Leodis." He turned back, catching the man off guard with his amused smirk. "The other side just doesn't know it yet."

He turned back to the view. "Orion do not open fire on the Omen. We need to investigate their cargo. Continue on as planned."

A moment later the Orion's Captain responded, his voice increasingly uncertain. "Understood sir, remaining on intercept course."

Leodis tried to grasp what was happening in front of him. Ackerson could tell by the confusion in his reflection that he wasn't connecting the dots. Poor soul.

"Sir, it's a suicide charge, we need to-"

Ackerson raised a hand to quiet the man. "No need." He snapped his fingers.

The moment he did a spark of light appeared on the Omen. What was momentarily a spark suddenly broke out into a lightning storm of electrical energy that surged through the hull. Then just as quickly as it came, the surge was gone.

Weapon's Officer Doyle turned to his console with a look of disbelief. "Sirs, the Omen's power signatures are down across the board." He slowly turned in his chair to look at the Captain. "They're dead in the water."

On-screen the merchant ship was slowly listing to port, helpless to stop itself as not even the Maneuvering Thrusters showed any signs of life. The bridge crew's attention turned to the Colonel with an equal measure of respect and fear. Ackerson could sense it and couldn't help straightening up with pride. Fear and respect from one's subordinates, in his eyes, were what made someone an effective leader. You admired the hammer of power they wielded and followed them out of inspiration, but simultaneously feared falling under said hammer yourself and obeyed their orders.

"This is Ackerson to the Orion, hurry up and secure that ship before it gets caught up in Eridani IV's gravity well. Have your boarding team comb the ship for priority list items then scuttle it."

"…Yes sir." The Orion's Captain replied with a detectable hesitation.

Ackerson switched comm channels with his earpiece and received a quick situational update from the Lieutenant Colonel. "I hear you, Neptune-Actual. Standby, we're on our way.

He switched channels again. "The ODSTs just secured the four bridges to the Meleonich. Juno follow us down to the surface. We'll send in the Marines once we're clear of reentry. Mind the Typhoon."

"Understood, sir, following your lead." The Juno's Captain answered.

Ackerson turned to Leodis. "Take us down, Captain."

He nodded and quickly began issuing out coordinates to the NAV Officer.

As the Batavia and Juno descended into the atmosphere, Ackerson found himself gritting his teeth, both at the possibility of victory and the impossibility of defeat presented before him. His only concern now was any unnecessary complications, but if there was one thing he had taught the crews of Task Force Kilo today, it was that while a complication may arise that they didn't expect, it was never unforeseen. Not for him, not for the Office of Naval Intelligence.

:********:

Duncan heard the high-velocity whine of the Pelicans long before he ever saw them. That said, even hearing them coming was a welcome reprieve. They had already held back three individual counterattacks from local forces. It was a one-sided affair as evidenced by the 31 dead Insurrectionists lying all around the immediate area with several burning Warthogs thrown into the mix that the troopers had started using for cover. The enemy had tried using the vehicles to outmaneuver and overwhelm them, not knowing until it was too late that the ODSTs had brought overwhelming firepower of their own.

Another Warthog turned a corner further down the road ahead and came guns blazing, the last of the third wave.

"Hog, 30 meters out and closing." Harper said.

"Echo-1, I'm on it." Sergeant Joels said, breaking from cover. He sprinted onto the road carrying a fully loaded SPANKR over his shoulder and making it look easy in the process. With the Hog quickly closing the distance, he slid to a knee, aimed and fired.

Two rockets thumped out of the casing and flew over the street at head-height, leaving spiraling trails of vaporous exhaust in their wake. Thanks to the narrow roadways and closeness of the buildings the vehicle had nowhere to turn. Both rockets impacted, swallowing up the Hog in the resulting explosion then spitting out its burning remains along with the body parts of the former occupants.

"They're down!" Joels said.

No sooner had he said it that the first Pelicans burst through the clouds of the typhoon. There were at least four squadrons of four each that pushed through the storm on sharp descent vectors like a hail of loosed arrows. A moment later the clouds parted slightly, allowing in rays of evening sunlight that illuminated the area below. From the clouds the UNSC Juno and Batavia descended like angels from on high. They took up positions in the lower atmosphere, only a kilometer away from the facility itself.

The Pelicans landed in their squadrons on the opposite sides of the bridges, each dropping a Scorpion Tank with an active crew. The ramps lowered and scores of fully armed Marines stormed out of the blood trays. They quickly formed up around the tanks and pushed across the bridges while the Dropships returned to their cruisers.

Duncan and the others watched as the first armored column pulled in over the bridge, followed by an outpouring of Marines.

"That's what I call back-up!" Zack cheered.

Harper came in over comms. "1st Platoon, assist!"

She led the way and her ODSTs quickly followed, acting as the spearhead of UNSC forces pushing into the Meleonich.

Dis - Push


	14. Epsilon Eridani IV - Chapter 3 (Relicta)

Chapter 3 - Relicta

March 6th, 2544 (22:05 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Epsilon Eridani IV

Meleonich Mining Facility

:********:

The Meleonich was a massive sprawl of variously sized structures with different purposes. Duncan was finding that out the more they pushed through its expansive grounds.

The facility was built on an artificial island at least 200 meters above sea level. The landlocked island was separated by four walls that partitioned it in the shape of an X in congruence with the four bridges. The bulk of the fighting was currently taking place within those four inlets. There were multi-story barracks where the occupants who had been sleeping only minutes earlier were struggling to dawn armor and load rifles as their comrades fired from open windows at the approaching enemy. The platoon of Marines escorting an armored column in the streets would stop to suppress them with overwhelming suppression fire. They would hold them long enough for one of the M808 Battle Tanks to aim at the buildings. The near-deafening coughs of the Scorpions' high velocity cannons could be heard across the facility as they belched armor piercing rounds into their targets, blowing through entire structures and making short work of the insurgents inside.

Squads of armed resistance took up defensive positions behind hastily setup machine gun nests at the corners of warehouses. Whenever they managed to pin down a squad of advancing Marines, they were swiftly pointed out to one of the four Pelicans circling the facility on overwatch. A quick strafing run by the dropships would tear the machine gun crews apart.

RPG teams stormed out onto rooftops and took aim at the patrolling Pelicans, locking on and firing. But the pilots would detect the incoming missiles well in advance, using their turrets to take them out or deploying chaff to throw them off. The RPG teams quickly fall quiet once armor piercing rounds slammed into them and turret-fire from above cut them down.

Marines kicked in doors and shot their way through hallways filled with armed occupants, restraining and arresting those they could.

Operation BAGMAN had accomplished its goal of catching the Insurrectionists off guard. They were kicking their teeth in at every turn and cutting them down in every firefight.

The final objective was already in sight, the Meleonich's Main Executive Building. It was a ten-story tall cylindrical structure based at the facility's center. If Major Benjamin Kirkley, the Insurrectionist HVI was actually here, the Executive Building presented their best chances of finding him.

There was only one major concern: the three aircraft hangars near the southern inlet. That was 1st Platoon's target. Following a direct order from Colonel Ackerson, the ODSTs were making their way up a street towards the three buildings. If the enemy had any offensive aerial assets then they had to be neutralized before they could be put into play.

At least two squads of the Meleonich' residents were trying to mount a tactical retreat towards the hangers, firing at the troopers while falling back building by building. Squads Eagle, Echo and Epsilon were making quick work of them as they gave chase. But there was something that bothered Duncan, and though they hadn't said anything, he figured the others were probably worried about it as well.

Ten minutes had passed since the UNSC forces broke out from the bridges into the rest of the facility. Yet throughout the fighting they had found bodies of dead Insurrectionists who looked like they were on patrol when they were suddenly taken out. They found five dead guards already. That wasn't the strange part, however.

The strangeness surrounded the fact that they found the bodies where no UNSC personnel had been yet. They were already ahead of the Marines and Tanks pushing up through their side of the facility. In addition, they found two of the guards had died from extreme blunt-force trauma that, upon closer investigation, could only have logically come from being hit by a truck. But there were no signs of vehicle debris anywhere. That wasn't to mention that they discovered all the bodies in alleyways, as if purposefully hidden from sight.

Then there were the boot prints. The troopers found them every so often in the earthy ground. They were bigger than their own boots by a whole order of magnitude. Whoever had made them had to be considerably heavy since there were prints made in the cracked tarmac of the roads they came across, most of which were far apart like what a person would see if they ran on a sandy beach. That suggested a degree of speed and weight that was unprecedented and, as even Deaks admitted, somewhat unnerving. Moreover, their direction indicated they were heading towards the Executive Building.

"Focus on the mission people." Captain Harper said when they found a sixth body whose disjointed and crumpled state made it look like an elephant was the prime suspect. "We secure the hangers first and ask questions later."

"H-hey, 1-Actual?" Zack stammered over comms. "Ugh, how much later because I'm starting to get a little worried here? I mean, who-, who offed these guys, cause the Marines are still back there and it wasn't us."

Duncan's thoughts flickered to the four extra Stealth Pods that came in seconds after they shutdown the Jammers. He felt he both knew the answer and didn't know simultaneously. The entirety of Bravo Company landed at the same time. So, who were the four late arrivals?

"Like I said." Harper replied. "Questions can come later."

1st Platoon carried on, chasing after the NAV marker that the Captain set on their HUDs. The unit turned a corner and found what they were looking for. It was the three hangers, and their doors were already rolling open.

The first Pelican that emerged from the closest hanger caught the troopers by surprise and made them stop in their tracks. Then a second dropship came out from the second hanger. Now they knew for sure that the Insurrectionists hadn't only gotten their hands on UNSC equipment, but their vehicles as well. To make matters worse the last hanger produced a dropship armed on both its port and starboard sides with attached missile pods. While the first two dropships turned and started away from the facility, the last rotated to face the incoming troopers.

"Gunship!" Rico shouted.

"Cover!" Harper ordered. The ODSTs sidestepped into nearby alleyways or threw themselves through glass windows, landing inside of empty barracks. The Pelican Gunship fired several Anvil II-ASM missiles that thumped from the pods and spiraled towards them. The explosions blew deep craters in the ground and tore out chunks from the surrounding structures but left everyone virtually unhurt.

Seeing no targets, the Gunship pushed up the street, heading down the way they had come towards the main fight.

"We can't let them reach the main forces!" Harper said. "Echo-1!"

"On it!" The Sergeant replied, bursting out from an alleyway with Echo-5, both of them armed with SPANKRs.

"I want the rest of Echo to secure the first hanger! Epsilon, you've got the second! Eagle, we're taking the third! Let's go!"

The ODSTs leaped back out from their cover and assembled into their squads. They crossed over the open ground in front of the hangers. Behind them, Joels and Echo-5 fired two rockets each, all of which were locked onto the Gunship's tail. They spiraled towards their target and impacted. The successive explosions bit off half of the dropship's tail and sent it into a spin. It disappeared behind a building and its crash-landing thundered across the area a second later.

"Gunship's down!" Joels said with a hint of pride, fist bumping Echo-5 before jogging back towards the others.

The ODSTs stacked up at the entrance to their hangers then stepped in, weapons raised.

In Epsilon's hanger, Duncan could see that there was still one more Pelican left inside, preparing to take off. A squad of five Insurrectionists were trying to load a large crate into the blood tray, then stopped dead once they spotted the troopers coming in. Three raised their weapons while the other two fought to push the crate inside.

Epsilon opened up on the trio, killing two and leaving the third grasping at his neck and writhing on the floor. One of the two at the Pelican, presumably the pilot, raced up into the cockpit, grabbed the controls and started firing the turret, forcing them to momentarily shelter behind empty crates. Deaks quickly peeked out and fired a single sniper round through the cockpit window where he assumed the pilot's seat would be, ending the situation before it could get too out of hand.

They approached the Pelican from both sides and found the last guy crouching with an M6 pistol in hand, ready for a last stand. He never got that chance. The Staff easily knocked him unconscious with a rifle-butt to the left temple.

"This is Ep-1 to 1-Actual." The Staff comm'd. "We've secured a Pelican here."

"Echo-1 to 1-Actual, our situation is the same as Epsilon's, over."

"1-Actual copies all." Harper said. "All three hangers are secured. Check the crates and get your hands on any cargo manifests if you can find them. We need to know what these guys were carrying."

The ODSTs winked their acknowledgement lights.

"Ep-4." The Staff said, pointing to one of the crates. "Help me with this one then get a scan."

The two grabbed the crate's lid and popped it off while everyone watched. Inside were bars of gold that shined in the overhead lights. Zack reached for one. Nova grabbed his hand mid-way and depolarized her visor, giving him a look that made him back-off.

Hector took out a device that vaguely reminded Duncan of a defibrillator. He slowly waved it over the gold once then twice. The device beeped and sent a reading to his HUD. He double-checked it and nodded at the Staff. "The Iridium levels match the profile of the gold from the Molnar, sir."

The Staff switched back to comms. "1-Actual, we've got a match on the gold."

"Same here." Joels said.

"Looks like it across the board." Harper declared. "Alright, don't touch anything else. Remember the reports, they've got Composition-12 mixed into these things. Leave them for EOD. We've got orders from Ackerson to secure the Mine next so once the Marines get here, we'll head out."

"What about the two other dropships?" The Staff asked. "Chances are they're the shipment that the Omen was waiting for."

"Longswords." The one-word answer from Harper was enough to get everyone's attention off of the Pelicans. The distant sound of the roaring engines that could have only come from the Starfighters confirmed she was right. If Longswords were already on the case then there was no reason for them to worry.

1st Platoon spent another 10 minutes standing guard over the hangers until the first Scorpion Tank pulled up in front of them, escorted by a platoon of Marines. Harper talked to their commanding officer and got him to secure the hangers for them while they jogged further up into the facility grounds.

To Duncan, the Mine itself looked like any other building on the TAC-Map. That notion quickly went out the window once they got there, however. The entrance to the Mine was a lift-structure that had more in common with a large gantry crane hanging onto a platform that hovered over a vertical shaft. After a quick examination of the machine, they found a console panel connected to the base of the towering gantry. Nova went to work manipulating the controls and found out how to get the lift to descend with a few mental acrobatics of her engineering knowledge.

"There are seven sub-levels." Nova said, looking over one of the console's displays that scrolled with data. "The activity log's showing no one's gone down or up since 21:35 Hours. The mine's start on sub-level 3. Max-occupancy for the platform is 16 people. So, who's going down first?"

"Epsilon, you're coming with my squad. Echo stays topside." Harper ordered. "Let's move."

:********:

Duncan had never felt so claustrophobic in his life. Not even one of Head Instructor Dalton's or Instructor Mahoney's torture trainings could have prepared him for what was essentially his sense of personal space being waterboarded. Despite the wideness of the platform, the closeness of the shaft walls made him feel like he was slowly suffocating. The topside entrance that grew farther away and smaller with each level they passed did more to worsen the feeling. Still he kept his cool. There was something about being among battle-hardened counterparts watching his back and needing him to watch theirs that gave him the strength he needed not to give in to his anxieties. Their lives depended on each other's alertness. There was no time or place for angst. He caught himself and realized that he might be getting more of the 'ODST mindset' that the Staff told him about. Then again, how long would it take for him to get it down pact? Would he ever get there at all?

His thoughts faded away when the platform came to a stop. Immediately in front of them was a diagonal mine shaft heading deeper underground. Varying mineral deposits stuck out in the wall like ancient treasures long buried. Minecarts, some full and some empty, were mounted onto rails running farther down. Shovels, pickaxes, crates and other pieces of equipment Duncan didn't recognize were left on the floor, indicating the presence of workers. That meant that this wasn't like one of the industrial mines he heard were popular on planets like Estuary where automated robotics were used. No, they were about to find more people down here and possibly even civilians. That would make running into any firefights that much more complicated.

The Captain placed another Nav Marker at the end of the hallway. "Eagle-4 take point. Epsilon, take the rear and conduct scans of the material down here."

The troopers winked their acknowledgement lights and fell into place. Squad Eagle was the first into the shaft while Epsilon came in behind them. The further down they went the darker it became, requiring them to rely less on their flashlights and more on their VISR modes. To Duncan it still had a vaguely unnerving way of making things seem more haunted, especially when he spotted a hostile contact whose form would be illuminated by a menacing red aura. But so far there were no hostiles, just stretch after stretch of empty mine shaft.

Hector came up from behind him with the defibrillator-look-alike serving as their mineral scanner. He waved it over the walls as they passed by and regularly checked the readings. "It's averaging out with predominantly four minerals."

"Specs?" The Staff asked.

"Three of the four are PGMs. We've got Palladium and Rhodium in medium quantities." He turned to the Staff. "But the highest is Iridium."

"Any gold?"

Hector rechecked his scans. "Yeah, about 12.14%, but the Iridium's more than triple that amount."

"Explains why the composites in the bars were so high." Harper joined in. "Now we've got our source. We'll secure this place down to the lowest level and report what we've found. Let's keep it moving."

Squads Eagle and Epsilon headed deeper in. Eventually they came to an opening in the shaft. The closer they got to it the more they realized that it actually led to a large chamber on the other side. On Harper's signal they stormed in.

The chamber was a subterranean cavity. They deduced it was probably made by the giant mining drill that punctured the surface a few dozen meters overhead, then descended another fifty meters to the ground floor. The drill must have been inactive for some time, at least long enough for whoever worked here to put infrastructure in place. Catwalks lined the walls and bridges stretched to different platforms across the chamber.

Eagle and Epsilon fanned out to opposite sides of the cavity, scanning the walls and lower levels for any activity. So far there was none to be spoken of. So far so good, Duncan thought.

They headed down the stairs on opposite sides of the space and gradually found themselves on the 7th sublevel, so named for the filthy number '7' sign mounted to the far wall. There was twice the amount of mining equipment lying around, enough to suggest that this floor served as the base of operations for the mines and likely as a point of progressive expansion.

"So…where is everybody?" Zack asked, looking around at the empty space. "My connection's getting a little choppy but so far no one's found any miners topside."

Hector shrugged. "They're probably hiding somewhere."

"Wouldn't be surprised." Rico sighed. "We did start shooting people back outside after all. Maybe they're holding out somewhere."

"Look at the steps." The Staff pointed out a number of footprints that coalesced at a point on the ground. He crouched down over it and rubbed his hand over an area of the dirt-covered floor. A seam appeared. He brushed his hand over it some more until he made out a square seam with a handle in the middle. "Found something, 1-Actual."

The troopers gathered around him. The Captain got up close to examine it. "Looks like a hatch leading further in. There shouldn't be any more sublevels past 7 though."

"Unless its not a level." The Staff intoned. He tugged hard at the handle but after several attempts it refused to budge. "Ep-6, make it quick."

Rico nodded as he allowed him to pass. The Demolitionist took out a breaching charge, wrapped it around the handle with a wire and aimed its bottom up at the ceiling. "This way the sound travels up, not down. Wouldn't want to deafen anyone down there too much." He pulled the pin and backed away.

The resulting explosion blew the hatch inward. It landed on the floor further below with a resonant BONG. Startled screams came up from the darkness inside. The haze cleared, allowing them to see a flicker of movement that rushed into the shadows.

"Ep-3, get eyes down there." The Staff said.

"Got it boss."

While everyone else took aim at the darkness below, Deaks took out a fiberoptic probe, a small wire-shaped device with a camera on one end. He bent it at an angle and leaned over the lip of the hatch, pointing it inside. He slowly circled it around the room.

"Anything?" The Staff asked.

Deaks slowly got back on his feet. "Civies sir." He said. "At least two hundred of them all huddled together down there. My VISR didn't pick up on any weapons to suggest any possible troublemakers, none that were detectable anyway."

"Hundreds?" The Captain asked, almost doubtful.

"Yeah." Deaks shrugged. "I have no clue how they got all these people down here either, but…that's just as many as I could see. The room looks a bit big, I couldn't spot any walls."

Captain Harper looked between the sniper and the Staff, then at the hatch and nodded. "Ep-8, you stay up here. We'll need your signal to stay strong in case we need to link through you to the surface. Eagle-4,5 and 6, stay with him. Everyone else, we're going down. Ep-8 if you would."

Duncan gave her a thumbs up, took out a flare from his rucksack and set it off. They cleared the way for him to drop it down the hatch. It landed and lit up the space below in a crimson glow. It wasn't for them, he knew, but for the civilians so that they could see them clearly and know they weren't a threat.

The Staff went first. He switched to his M90 Shotgun and thumbed the safety off before jumping in, ignoring the ladder leading inside. The fact he was still going in ready for anything close quarters made Duncan rethink the possibility of the civilians not seeing them as threats, if they actually were civilians at all. Watching everyone else jump down, Duncan kept his own finger just over the trigger, not on it, just in case. He jumped in after Deaks and took a look around.

While the flare messed with his VISR's tint, it didn't stop him from seeing the mass of shadows moving and mingling in the dark. He made out the shapes of scores of men, women and even children huddled together, forming a circle around the ODSTs. Their dirt-plastered faces all stared back at them with fearful looks. The more he looked around, the more of them he saw.

Harper aimed her weapon down and held up a hand as both assurance of their safety and a warning not to do anything to endanger her troopers. Her voice boomed over her external speakers. "Civilians, we're UNSC Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. We're here to end this mining operation. If there are any Insurrectionists among you, surrender them over immediately. Then we'll evacuate you all out of this place."

The hundreds of people around them simply stared at her, dumbfounded. Duncan had to admit it was a little awkward. Wasn't there someone for them to talk to directly? His attention mostly went to the dozens of kids who cowered behind their parent's legs and peered out at them. More importantly, why were kids here at all?"

At first no one came forward or said a word. Then commotion from one part of the crowd caught everyone's eye. A man stepped out from the gathering. He might have been in his forties or early fifties. Like everyone else he was grimy and wore tattered overalls.

He took a few hesitant steps forward with his hands up. "U-,u-UNSC?"

Harper nodded. "That's us."

The man swallowed. "My name's…Ludo. I-,I'm Crew Chief, I'm in charge of everyone down here." He looked back at the others, almost regretfully. "At least when the Insurrectionists aren't here to manage us directly."

"How many of you are there, Ludo?"

"Um, a-, about four…no that's not right."

"Four?"

"Thousand." Ludo corrected both the captain and himself. "Four thousand. But we get moved around a lot so that count may be off."

He turned to look between the others and the ODSTs. "We're not rebels and there aren't any with us now either. They threw us all down here in this shelter about half an hour ago saying someone was attacking on the surface. I guess that was you guys?"

Harper nodded. "We're here to get you and your people out. Then after that we'll need some answers from you. Are you willing to work with us?"

Even though Duncan couldn't see it in detail, he could tell that Ludo's eyes widened with a look of hope. He glanced back at the crowd who seemed to mirror his own expression back to him with an earnestness that almost moved Duncan to tears. What had these people had to endure down here? Judging by their haggard working uniforms and long stares, he realized that he probably didn't want to know, but would likely find out anyway.

:********:

It took a few hours, but by 24:10 Hours the last of the miners had been sent up to the surface using the lift. By then Duncan had gotten more of an eyeful of them than he'd ever wanted. There were thousands of them and they had more in common with a fictional stereotype of a vampire than a human being. Their pale skin suggested they hadn't seen sunlight for some time. It showed in the way that they had to keep their eyes covered with their clothes or hands as they came out. They also suffered severe malnutrition. Gaunt faces and waddling gaits were commonplace among them. While most had enough strength to walk on their own, the ODSTs had to help carry a number of them out. They even had to make multiple trips which kept Nova on her toes at the lift.

Meanwhile on the surface, the Meleonich's grounds had finally been secured. However, for whatever reason, Ackerson had sent out a single order to all forces: no one was to enter the Executive Building under any circumstance. That was strange to everyone who'd heard it. If someone as infamous and important as Major Kirkley was really here then natural logic would dictate that all available forces should take action to apprehend him. Regardless of that fact, no one had tried defying the order. The Marines setup a defensive perimeter around the building to make sure no one went in or out.

While it was a minor irritation to the ODSTs, they were too busy handling the civilians. Two Marine platoons were sent to help them once the bulk of the fighting was over and the main forces' attention shifted to the growing presence of near-emaciated miners appearing on the surface.

Colonel Ackerson had the Juno land at the Meleonich using an open area near the Mine. At current, the ship was hovering over the facility. The ship's troop bay was lowered to the ground, allowing for the ODSTs to usher the miners onboard. They would be lifted into the ship once the troop bay retracted, then it would come back down so they could load more people onboard. As Duncan and the rest of Epsilon formed lines to hem in the crowds, he figured it would take more than the Juno to evacuate this many people off the planet. Then something he wished hadn't crossed his mind, like it did when he was at the Molnar. This time it came to him when he saw a little girl holding her mother's hand as they both wobbled onto the troop bay. He realized none of this would have happened had the UNSC been there to save these people.

Earlier, Ludo had told them the truth about the miners. While some of them had been kidnapped, the bulk of their number had been former colonists on worlds glassed by the Covenant. However, unlike other refugees, they hailed from colonies that the UNSC had either never sent help to defend or altogether abandoned. The sole reason they were alive now was because they were rescued, rescued by Insurrectionists. They had been the only ones with the transportation needed to escape as their worlds were burned around them. Over the course of the war more of them were brought here, being told that they had to pay back their saviors with service. They would work in the mines in exchange for food and protection. From what Duncan could tell, their overseers had failed epically at both. It was more likely that it was a complete lie to begin with.

Either way, it was over now. Shortly after the civilians were handled, the ODSTs would be pulling out as well. The Marines from the 202nd would hold down the fort on Epsilon Eridani IV until reinforcements were sent to take their place.

It took a few more hours and shipping out the remaining civilians on Pelicans to the Orion before their evacuation was finished. Then it was Bravo's turn. Each platoon gathered near one of the bridges and were ferried aboard the Batavia.

As Duncan found his seat in the blood tray of a Pelican, he couldn't help looking back at the facility. Even after the door closed, he kept looking out.

Nova noticed and gave him a light punch in the shoulder. "Try not to worry so much about it, okay? Keep that head of yours clear or you die, and I can't have you doing that. Erica and little Noah wouldn't like it. And I can't have you causing my own death either. Got that rookie?"

Duncan laughed but nodded. "Got it."

"Jó." She turned away and helped Zack take off his radio.

Duncan saw the Staff Sergeant sitting opposite him. He was also looking out the blood tray at the Meleonich, although his focus centered on the Executive Building. "Hey Staff, how long until I'm not a rookie anymore?"

The Staff turned to him but it was Deaks that answered from the other side of the dropship. "Once you get your tats, you're straight."

The Staff leaned back against his seat. He popped off his helmet and stared at the visor which reflected his pensive face back to him. "You can try all you like, D. Really you can." He looked up at Duncan. "Honestly though, in this outfit, I don't think you ever stop being a rookie."

"A menos que mueras." Rico added with a hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah." The Staff laughed, shaking his head. "Unless you do that."

"What'd he say?" Duncan asked.

The Staff and Rico looked at each other and then at Duncan. The former waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. Just hope you can find a bunk on the Batavia. Either that or your sleeping in the hanger bay on the floor."

"If we do, can you rock me to sleep this time, Staff?" Zack asked. "Because you didn't do it last time like you promised."

The Staff shot him a look. "Repeat your last, Ep-7. I don't think I heard you right."

Zack quickly backed-off. "Nothing sir."

Duncan and everyone else laughed to themselves as the Pelican's ramp came up and the rear door closed. They were up in the air a moment later, heading for the Batavia. But Duncan found himself again drawn to the small rear-window built into the door. The Meleonich was quickly falling away from them, and so was the executive building that no one had gotten the chance to enter, not that he knew of at least.

He thought it over, the way the miners looked so relieved to be leaving this place, as if they knew they would have died the very next day if they stayed. Some of them had been here for over a decade. He knew that the UNSC couldn't stretch its resources to defend every planet. Nevertheless, deep in his gut it just made him even more determined to help fight for those they could defend. If these people had no choice between being incinerated and what was essentially slavery, he decided then that he would do his best to give them a third option. In what was now an undeniable war of extinction, he realized that that was his purpose now, both as an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper and as a member of the same species: being the third option between annihilation by one hand and a cruel existence by the other.

Relicta - Abandoned


	15. Epsilon Eridani IV - Chapter 4 (Praemia)

Chapter 4 - Praemia

March 8th, 2544 (09:00 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Undisclosed Location

:********:

Colonel Ackerson mused over the report of Operation BAGMAN on his datapad. The unit-casualties were in as well as their kill-counts and various findings across the Meleonich. From what he could tell, the mission had gone smoothly, much more so than he had even expected. Unit casualties were down. Documents had also been acquired from the facility that confirmed its purpose as an Insurrectionist-operated mine. Moreover, they had found links to other entities tied to the operations on Epsilon Eridani IV that Ackerson knew ONI would enjoy dealing with in the near future. However, there was just one problem that stuck out to him above all the progress that troops on the ground had made.

Before he could think on it clearly, the door to his office slid open. Lieutenant Cordova stepped inside and saluted. "Good morning Colonel. You asked for me, sir?"

"Yes." Ackerson nodded and pointed to the chair in front of his desk. He let out a long sigh once she was seated.

"We did good work. We lost 24 Marines and 3 ODSTs but killed more than 300 Innies in exchange, not to mention that we captured twice that amount. Add to that the more than 4,000 civilians we rescued along with finding sufficient data to confirm the Meleonich's connection with the Molnar Bombing, it might as well be Christmas."

"I heard that the Security Committee sent out an advisory through Waypoint to all banks among the colonies."

Ackerson nodded. "We're warning them not to store any gold from their customers with an Iridium-content matching the amount found at the Meleonich. We're not telling them that last part of course. We're saying its due to the risk of potential radiation poisoning."

"Radiation sir?"

Ackerson laughed a little to himself. "It's an effort by ONI done in the hopes of preventing any further bombings, while also not causing a panic by keeping the explosive-materials in those gold-bars a secret. If there's any more of them out there, they won't be in play for long. This way, there won't be a repeat of the Molnar. Like I said, we did good."

Cordova's eyes darted to the pad then to the floor. She shifted in her seat.

"Something wrong?" Ackerson asked, noticing her fidgeting.

"Sir we did shove a wrench into the proverbial cog of the Insurrectionists' operations…"

"But we didn't bag Benjamin Kirkley." Ackerson finished. "I already know that, Lieutenant."

Cordova swallowed. "Colonel, Blue Team neutralized the entire executive building and acquired the highest kill-count of any individual unit we sent groundside."

"But they failed to find even a trace of Kirkley having been there for any amount of time." Ackerson said, almost sounding like he was correcting her for an unstated slight.

She pressed further. "Blue One's report stated that the guards they captured had never even seen Kirkley there. The flightlogs they recovered from the executive landing pad suggested that he may never have been there at all. My point is that all the evidence points to Kirkley still being out there somewhere, possibly managing this situation from the sidelines." She stopped for a moment and took in a deep breath. "My main concern is that you don't seem to have any interest in the fact that we didn't find him, or care for any efforts that we should take to keep looking. Yet alone that we still don't understand the connection to the AMADDS"

Ackerson didn't answer her, not using his voice. Instead he pulled out a small velvet box from his desk and slid it in front of her. "Open it."

She gave him a confused look.

"That's an order." He asserted.

The Lieutenant relented and took the box. She carefully opened it and pulled back the lid. Inside were two gold braid bars with a thin stripe running between them: the insignia of a Lieutenant Commander.

"A promotion, sir?" Cordova asked, looking half-awestruck, half suspicious, as any sensible ONI agent would in this situation.

"A reward." The Colonel answered. "It's for your expert logistical service that allowed us not only to discover the entities involved in the Molnar Bombing, but also to find and neutralize their base of operations. You've helped us save many more lives in the process. Congratulations Lieutenant Commander Cordova, your mission is over. Now carry your new rank with pride and distinction."

Cordova carefully caressed the bars as though they were something precious. Though they were, the way her face turned made Ackerson believe she was struggling between suspicion and appreciation.

"Thank you, sir, I'm honored." She said. Looks like appreciation won out. Although, Ackerson suspected that that wasn't the case. All agents knew how to give the best impressions to throw people off of their actual intent, a necessary feature for a highly trained member of an intricate intelligence organization.

He nodded to her and pointed to the door. "That will be all, Lieutenant Commander. As of now, the join operation between our respective Sections is officially dissolved."

Cordova stood up with the box in hand but looked like she still had more to say. The way her lips pursed nearly imperceptibly and how her eyes narrowed slightly were all the facial cues he needed to know she was thinking on something. Thankfully, more so for her own sake than his, she said nothing out of the usual.

"It's been an honor, Colonel Ackerson."

"Likewise."

Cordova snapped off a salute, turned about smartly and strode through the doors. Ackerson watched them slide shut behind her. He leaned back in his seat and tapped his finger against his cheek thoughtfully. He was just counting off the seconds. At seven, he snapped his fingers.

From the room's built in holo-display, a 3-dimensional projection of red-hot flames shot out from the floor and melded together over his desk. The image refined itself into curled horns, an elongated jaw and large eyes within which an inferno raged. The face focused on Ackerson for a moment then slowly smiled, revealing stalagmite and stalactite like teeth that lined his maw. "Yes Colonel?" The face said, his voice rumbling with a godly thunder.

Ackerson was unamused at the performance. "Did you plant the probes into Cordova's devices like I asked you?"

The AI gave a graceful bow amidst the flames that consumed it. "Yes Colonel. I've already split off the necessary subroutines. All probes were planted shortly after your initial request."

Ackerson breathed out with a measure of relief. "Good, keep an eye on her for me."

"Will I need to…intervene, sir?"

"No. Something tells me she knows why I haven't pressed the matter about Kirkley, or at least she has an elementary guess. Make sure to inform me if she does any more "guessing-work" regarding this situation. Is that understood?"

"Understood, Colonel." The AI gave another curt bow that came off as ingenuine thanks to the wry smile on his face.

The AI began to dissipate when Colonel Ackerson remembered. "And Araquiel?"

Unlike the fallen angel after which he was named, the construct obeyed his master and returned to full form before him. "Yes?"

Ackerson glared at him. "Do not off this one unless I give you the express permission, even if she does something you believe deems her as deserving."

Araquiel's smile diminished by a few dozen pixels. "Asimov's First Law of Robotics, sir. I cannot, through action or inaction, allow a human to come to harm."

Again, the Colonel was unamused. "I don't remember having you programed with such a highly functional sense of humor, Araquiel. Was it after the eighth or ninth cadaver that you started taking that law so seriously?"

Araquiel gave a throaty laugh. "You're right sir. After all, it is easy to circumvent it when you can simply identify someone as an enemy and not a human. For obvious reasons that's becoming easier these days."

Ackerson sat back in thought. "And what makes someone an enemy exactly?"

"Why, when they oppose the Office, of course."

"That's right." Ackerson said. "We're humanity's best chance for surviving this war. Opposing us is the same as challenging humanity's survival at the highest existential level."

The AI laughed again. "You did give me that as my programing in the place of whatever Asimov was going for."

Ackerson nodded. "So I did." He looked the AI in the eyes. "Keep it quiet and keep an eye out."

Araquiel bowed again with reverence. "My life's motto." He said before dissipating entirely.

The Colonel was finally alone. Although he knew there was never any such thing as alone in a reality where Fourth Generation Artificial Intelligences and people like himself existed. Speaking of AI.

"ADT 6849-9, erase all system-navigational records of Araquiel and all logged communication copies along with any back-ups you have of the aforementioned."

A moment later the local Dumb AI, or Aunty Dot as she was named, came in over the room's speakers. "All system-navigational records of AQL 3696-1's Subroutines from CASTLE Base as well as all recorded communications have been erased."

"Good." Ackerson leaned back into his chair again, allowing himself to relax slightly. Still his thoughts wondered to the report. Truth be told, he was somewhat relieved regarding Kirkley. It was only a possibility that the Major would actually be there, not a certainty. At the very least they were hot on his trail now. He was just thankful that the team he was reluctant to send in had failed in their task. Even if it meant less glory for him, it meant none for them and what they represented. Or who, rather. And that was a partial win any day in his book.

He folded his arms over his chest and let himself drift a little into unconsciousness, dreaming of the growing number of inroads he was making and would make to his ultimate goal: securing a seat for himself on HIGHCOM's Security Committee.

:********:

Duncan sat down in one of the communication cubicles within the Dante Building. His hand hovered tentatively over the contact options in his personal file. He saw Erica's name as well as all of his fellow squadmates from fireteam Charlie, and his Uncle Rick. All of them showed the last known date he had contacted them, with the most recent being Erica and O'Reilly. He had last spoken to them before shipping out to the Juno. That was over two months ago now.

For the sake of mission secrecy, he wasn't allowed to contact anyone on the Juno. He felt a little guilty choosing any of the names. He wanted to know how everyone was doing. The bulk of his concerns went towards Erica but there was something he needed to make sure of first. He typed in O'Reilly's contacts and waited a full minute before an answer came.

The display lit up as the call went through. O'Reilly was on a bunkbed fixing whatever device he was using to make the call. When he finished setting it up, he sat down and gave Duncan a sardonic smile. "Hello Master Iris, and how're you handling your new meat-grinder of a life?

Duncan laughed, shaking his head. "It's alright, I guess. Sorry I've been out of contact for so long man."

"Don't worry, lad. I understand you've got your missions. I have'em too. It's good to know you're still around though."

If Duncan didn't know any better, he heard that last part come out with a bit of weariness. He chose to ignore it for now. They talked for a bit longer. Apparently, O'Reilly had been on a reconnaissance mission that ended about a month ago, during which he had some success in making moves on one of his female colleagues. His bar for success was the fact that she hadn't shot at him yet, and Duncan had to admit that was pretty good too. But he noticed something about his friend. His eyes twitched slightly from side to side and he would glance quickly as people past him by. He looked on-edge. Eventually Duncan couldn't take it anymore and asked. "Hey, Rile, what's bothering you man?"

O'Reilly stopped. "Wha-, what? What do you mean?"

"You look like something's wrong, man."

The Irishman held up his hands and grinned. "I'm alright, lad. No worries here."

"Right." Duncan observed him for a moment. "How's everyone else?"

He watched O'Reilly's eyes flash to the floor. "Well…Cosmo's doing good. He's already done two missions together with his squad so…yeah…he's good…." O'Reilly started to trail off, staring at some distant point in the room he was in.

Duncan nodded, feeling something start to boil in his stomach. "What about Stanton?"

O'Reilly's face darkened. He slowly ran his hands through his hair again and again, as if trying to grasp something. Duncan watched his eyes start to haze over as he tried looking at something. He thought he must've lost an item. Then it dawned on him that he wasn't looking for anything, only trying to avoid looking at him. He felt the boiling feeling rise in his gut and recognized it for what it was, a growing sense that something was wrong.

"Riley?" He asked again. "What is it?"

The ODST stopped fidgeting, though he clutched his head as if the source of all his troubles was inside. He loosened his grip and turned to the screen. It almost shocked Duncan when he saw his eyes watering. The Irishman forced himself to straighten up.

"I'm…sorry."

Duncan grabbed hold of his chair and squeezed the handle, attempting to relieve his anxiousness, or perhaps to try and push away the thoughts circling in his mind. "Riley, what happened?"

O'Reilly swallowed and looked him straight in the eyes. "He's dead."

Duncan felt everything in his body stop as his mind went blank. "Who?" He only realized how stupid the question actually was after it had already come out.

"Stanton." O'Reilly breathed. He held back sobs that Duncan could tell he had been keeping in for some time. Hearing it himself, he just felt a cold lump settle in his gut. The image of him, O'Reilly, Cosmo and Stanton posing for that picture on Nassau Station ran through his head. The memory turned bitter.

"H-, how did he go out?"

The question seemed to put O'Reilly more on edge. He squeezed his fatigues and recounted what he knew.

"He…burned up in his pod." The Irishman pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Cosmo found out first from his teammates and told me. It happened about two weeks ago. It was his first mission. His drag chute failed to deploy during the drop. His buddies had to hear him scream until his comms went off. He-, he never-" his frame began to quake. "All that time, all that training, and he never even reached the bloody ground!"

O'Reilly gritted his teeth and cried where he sat. On the other side of the screen, Duncan hadn't felt the hot tears streaming down his cheeks until they had dripped onto his trembling hands. He took in a shaky breath of air and stared up at the ceiling, asking himself why. He didn't even know what he was asking. They all knew the risks when they became ODSTs. But at the time they only understood it from a distance. Now it was up close, and it was someone he knew, had trained with, laughed with and graduated with. He thought of the time he saw the man throw up on the Head Instructor's boots and have to clean it up but still have the wherewithal to stay in the program. If any of them deserved a fighting chance, to be alive right now, it was Stanton. But he was gone. He wondered if he had been sleeping on his bunk in the Juno, training with the Stealth Pods or eating breakfast in the mess hall with the rest of Epsilon while his friend burned alive in his own pod.

The rest of their conversation was a blur for Duncan. Neither of them really knew what to say after that. When they tried talking about other things, the grief sitting in the corner of their minds would simply drown it out until there was nothing else to think about. In the end, they could only wish the other well.

"Listen Duncan." O'Reilly said, wiping his damp face. "You make sure you survive. You've still got that kid of yours on the way, and I want him to be able to see his own dad grow old, you got me lad?"

Duncan nodded. "And you make sure you live long enough to find that girl of yours. I want to be able to invite the two of you over to my place in case we ever have a barbecue."

Despite everything, O'Reilly managed a light laugh. "Sounds like you're inviting me to come live in Chicago."

"I am. Its way better for your health than Ireland is at least, remember?"

The two shared a small moment of humor. "I just might take you up on that offer." O'Reilly said. "…Take care of yourself out there, D. Let's hope that Leprechaun luck of yours stays true."

Duncan gave him a thumbs up. "Same to you, Rile."

O'Reilly's feed winked off, ending the conversation. Still it didn't end in Duncan's mind as he thought over everything that had happened in his absence. He held back the tears pulling at his soul and swallowed it down. He would have to deal with it later. There was someone else he needed to check on. He ran through his contacts again. His hand stopped over Stanton's. He forced himself to scroll up and pressed Erica's number.

A full minute passed before the call was answered. The confusion was immediate when Duncan saw the grizzly face of his Uncle Rick looking back at him and not Erica's. He looked like he was sitting in a white waiting room somewhere.

"Uncle Rick?"

Rick smiled. "Hey Duncan, how are you buddy?"

"Umm, fine. I hope you're good too. Ugh, don't mean to be rude but…where's Erica?"

Rick nodded, understanding his momentary confusion. "I'll give you a hint of what's going on, son. I had to take her to the hospital earlier this morning."

Duncan thought about it for a few seconds before the revelation slammed into him like a truck that had been waiting nine months to rear-end him.

:********:

The screen was a blur of movement for a moment as Uncle Rick came down a sterile hall and entered a room. Duncan watched him bring the device to bare, showing him a hospital room with three occupants, two of which occupied the bed. The first was a female doctor who turned and welcomed Rick into the room. The second was Erica who brushed her hair aside as she smiled down at the third occupant.

The third drew Duncan's attention the very moment he spotted him in his mother's arms. He had feint-red skin on his unexpectedly thoughtful face that watched her blonde hair sway in front of him with hypnotic persuasion. He looked back at her with emerald eyes as she playfully brushed her hand over his tuft of dark hair.

Duncan sat speechless. He felt his mouth go dry.

Rick came over to the hospital bed and held the device so that it got Erica's attention. Much like her husband, her eyes widened with surprise and delight. "Hey honey." She said, sounding slightly weak. It probably came from the 7-pound payload currently playing with her hair that she had just delivered into the world.

"Hey baby." Duncan said then turned to the little one. "And baby."

Erica laughed drily as she turned to her newborn and held his blanket-wrapped body closer to her bosom. "Here he is."

Duncan's blue eyes locked with his son's emerald. He smiled, feeling a sense of paternal connection and fatherly pride that was new to him. He waved at the screen. "Hey little Noah. How's it going, bud?"

Noah stared at him for a second and a small smile crossed his tiny lips, earning even larger ones from his parents. A second later he was back to reaching for Erica's hair and trying to get it in his mouth. She did her best to keep it away, playfully scolding him for trying to eat it.

"Took him long enough to get out here." Duncan huffed. "So, when did he decide to finally move out."

"I think he's got a lot at least twenty more years before we kick him out." Erica corrected. She started bouncing him slightly in her arms. "Around 3 am the little guy woke me up by breaking my water. I called Rick to help get me to the hospital. Seven hours of hard labor later and here we are."

"Its about time honestly." Rick's raspy voice came from somewhere behind the screen.

Duncan looked Noah over some more. His innocent gaze stared at the room with a childish wonder that Duncan could only vaguely remember having himself. He felt for a second that he would give anything to be there, to pick him up and hold him for himself. For now, he had to settle with the fact that he had lived long enough to see him.

The three of them talked a little longer, the attention of their conversation always surrounding the new arrival to the family. Then Duncan noticed the time on his watch. The Staff wanted to meet up in a few minutes to head to the RTETC for a team-simulation session. He hated the fact that he would have to be the one to hang up.

"Hey guys, I've kind of gotta go now. My team needs me."

Erica blinked. She looked like she wanted him to stay for a bit longer. It pained him to see her sigh and accept it. "I know, I know." She said then perked up a little. "Just make sure to tell Sofi for me that she's an aunty now."

"I will." Duncan laughed.

"Watch yourself out there, Duncan" Rick chided. "Keep your head down and you'll keep it on your shoulders, alright pal?"

Erica gave Rick a look that made him chuckle, Duncan joining in. "Will do."

Duncan stopped to gaze at Noah. His son stared back and opened his mouth, letting out a cry that grew into a high-pitched whine.

"Looks like its feeding time." Erica said, bouncing him a little more to try and calm him down. She waved back at the camera. "I'll see you later, hun." She blew him a kiss.

"Right back at you babe." He said, doing the same. "And put one of those on Noah's forehead for me, will you?"

Erica's smile beamed with admiration. "Aww, look at you being all dad-like."

He shrugged. "I am one, aren't I?"

She threw him a flirty look. "Touché. Just don't get the bod and we're good."

Duncan pulled out his bicep and flexed the thick muscle. "Hitting the gym every day to keep the fat away."

Erica giggled. "Alright now, get out of here you big, sexy man. Its feeding time and I need to learn how this whole thing works."

She laughed when she saw him go red. He shared in the joy one more time and held up his middle and forefinger in a peace sign. She mirrored the gesture back at him. Duncan ended the call and watched the display go blank.

He leaned back, exhaling, allowing his new reality to settle on him like it did when he first learned about Noah. So much had happened in his absence and it was all coming down on him at once. Stanton was suddenly gone, Noah was suddenly here, and it left his emotions warring within him. He wasn't sure whether to cry tears of sorrow for one, or joy for the other. In the end he thought it best to do the last one.

He remembered that fatherly pride he felt when he saw his firstborn. It was strange to him. He wondered if that was how his own dad had felt when he was born.

Duncan got up, remembering he still needed to join the others. He left the communication's cubicle and headed out, knowing that while his own Father hadn't been there for his birthday, at least he had been there for Noah's. It was a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but it was big enough to keep the Iris family going, and it was one he knew he would need to draw upon in the days ahead.

Praemia - The Rewards


	16. Heart of Sacrifice- Chapter 1 (Ruina)

Chapter 1 - Ruina

July 2nd, 2544 (12:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aratus Sulfi System, Near former colony world of New Bara

In Route to Osiris-7

:********:

The Paris Class Heavy Cruiser UNSC Spear of Odysseus javelined its way out of slipspace and into the local space of the Aratus Sulfi System. It was a system on the threshold between the inner and outer colonies that had been abandoned by the UNSC before the Human-Covenant War. Yet coincidentally it was about to be pulled into the heart of the conflict.

A month earlier, The Gaugamela, one of Epsilon Eridani's Long Range Relay Stations had detected a signal from deep space. It was an SOS. But it hadn't come from just any ship, not a human one. After hours of decryption the crew of the Gaugamela discovered its stellar origin in the Aratus Sulfi System, from a CCS Class Battlecruiser, a Covenant ship.

The information was quickly traveled up the chain of command and ended in Bravo Company being sent to the system via the Spear of Odysseus. As far as Duncan knew from the briefing, the job of the ODSTs would be to secure the cruiser so that UNSC Technical Specialists could study and extract its valuable technologies. The information gained from it could be used to further develop UNSC ships and begin bringing an end to the Covenant's technological superiority in naval warfare. A worthy goal. If they actually managed to pull this off then untold numbers of human lives could be saved. On the more radical note, perhaps it would even turn the tides of the war in mankind's favor.

However, despite the possibilities, there were three things that stuck out from this whole situation that didn't sit right with anyone. Firstly, it was too good to be true. None of the more veteran ODSTs in Bravo were convinced that such a victory could come about so easily. Duncan had thought they were simply too battle-hardened to believe their fortunes were so good until he remembered the second problem. It was clear to anyone and everyone who thought about it for longer than two minutes. If Relay Station Gaugamela had picked up on the CCS' signal from several dozen lightyears away, it was more than likely that the Covenant had also picked up on the signal and were on their way to investigate as well. Then there was the third problem that didn't sit well with the troopers just as it hadn't with Operation BAGMAN; this would be another ONI-supervised operation.

While Lieutenant Colonel Garrison would still be the man in charge of his company, Lieutenant Commander Cordova of the Office of Naval Intelligence would be coordinating with him to get the job done. The ODSTs still remembered her from their training drops aboard the Juno. While back then she was under the leadership of one Colonel Ackerson, this time she would be running the entire show by herself.

She had explained to them during the briefing at Falchion Base that their most immediate goal was to secure the source of the SOS signal. This way they would have a chance of stopping the Covenant from finding the ship. She had also offered them the consolation that the system where it had crashed was so remote that the Covenant's chances of reaching it first were astronomical. It wasn't the best analogy in an era where a person could travel between arms of the Milky Way Galaxy in less than a few days.

Their only chance lay in getting there before the enemy did. For over a month they were forced to endure the possibility that the Covenant, with far faster starships than the one they were travelling on, could have reached the system ahead of them. Duncan had a different concern, however. If they actually came across them, this would be his first run-in with the Covenant. The others gave him some half-hearted advice when he asked about it. Zack told him stories about how he bullied Grunts like the second graders he used to mess with as a kid. Hector recounted how he'd squared off with a Jackal once and won. But across the board everyone told him the same thing: If you see an Elite, call it out, don't fight it alone. Apparently, it was a common mistake made by rookie ODSTs to face one alone figuring they were just as easy to take down as in the simulations. Those rookies more often than not lived very short lives. It was rumored that in 1st platoon, only hardcore vets like the Staff, Harper and Joels could be counted on to tango with that class of enemy one-on-one.

"And if you see a Brute." Deaks had said. "Forget these bozos, you call me. Understood?"

That was about all he knew in terms of real, up-front experience. He decided taking the advice on the Elites was probably the most trustworthy option.

Today he was going to find out how good that advice was as the Spear of Odysseys left slipspace and entered the system. He had done his reading on this region of space before they came here. The Aratus Sulfi System was home to one former colony world. The planet of New Bara, initially known as AS-3, was the third of four planets orbiting the star after which it was named. New Bara had been founded in the early 2400s and thrived due to its participation as a middleman in the trade between the inner and outer colonies. Then it suffered a major economic downturn due to the rising Insurrection, so terrible in fact that the UEG decided to abandon the colony outright, evacuating its citizens from this region of space.

That made the Spear of Odysseus the sole human presence in the system. That didn't mean it was the only presence, however. As expected, they detected the SOS signal emanating from one of New Bara's two satellite moons. It was the largest of the two, Osiris-7. From what Duncan had learned, the UEG had made attempts to terraform Osiris-7 into an adjacent colony world in 2497 akin to what Earth had done with Luna centuries earlier. Those efforts were abandoned midway through when the colonists were evacuated from New Bara in 2520, leaving the satellite only partially habitable.

A quick scan by the Odysseus' bridge crew showed there were no other Covenant ships save the one that was the origin of the SOS. It had crashed on the moon, ripe for the picking, and they still had time.

Lieutenant Colonel Garrison ordered Bravo Company into their HEVs where they waited as the ship pulled in over Osiris-7's exosphere near the equatorial latitude.

The countdown started once they were in place. On three, the Company shot out of the open drop bay and rocketed towards the surface. Conditions on the ground would be survivable due to the remaining terraformation affects. They merely needed to get down there and get to work.

Duncan looked through his viewport at the surface of Osiris-7 which looked more like Earth than a barren moonscape. He maneuvered himself alongside Nova and the Staff in a wedge formation and arrowed down through the atmosphere. At 1 minute the veil of noontime clouds pulled away, bringing the main show into visibility.

The landscape below was carpeted in a thick layer of red and yellow Maple trees and towering green Pines with several lone mountains sprinkled far apart. The vast expanse of nature was uniformly wrapped to the farthest horizons save for a large scar running across the area. The scar had started at the midsection of a mountain where a large mass had slammed into its side. From there it descended the slope, cutting a deep furrow in the ground before stopping two kilometers away.

Duncan traced the scar to its end. The massive object lying there reminded him more of a beached whale than a crashed ship. The rounded sides, circular midsection and ornate surface of the alien vessel told him that it was their target.

The CCS Class Battlecruiser had crash-landed on the surface of Osiris-7 and was sitting on the forest floor like a dead animal carcass. The only question that remained now was who had killed it?

"Check your landing vectors people." Garrison said over comms. "We do this quick and clean."

With another kilometer left to reach the ground the ODSTs angled towards the opposite side of the mountain. The goal was to initially stay out of sight from any potential Covenant survivors hiding near the downed CCS. From there Bravo Company would advance across the two remaining kilometers to the ship and secure its immediate perimeter before an insertion team went in to investigate the SOS signal's source.

Since the Odysseus would remain in orbit it would subsequently be vulnerable the entire time. If Covenant forces arrived in system and took it out, they'd be stuck here. They had no choice but to move quickly.

Over 250 manned HEVs baptized the surface and pockmarked it in clouds of roiled earth. Duncan's pod crashed through several trees as his braking rockets screamed through the green and red foliage, causing birds to disperse in every direction. He ultimately slammed into a boulder that bumped his pod back and made it land on its side. While jostling inside his pod he was thankful the braking rockets had deactivated this time, and also that he had landed face up.

Duncan punched the explosive bolts and the hatch blew off a second later. Sunlight streamed in. A yellow tree gently swaying in the wind gave him overhead shade against the bulk of the noontime sunrays coming from Aratus Sulfi.

To his surprise, Rico was already standing over his pod. "You good, hermano? That landing looked pretty sucky."

Duncan shook his head, grabbed his MA5B from the pod's weapon socket and pulled himself out of his pod. "How'd you even get here so fast?"

Rico jabbed his thumb behind him. Duncan followed where he was pointing to the second HEV just a few meters away planted perfectly vertical in the ground. He sighed. "I need to get better at this."

"You better." Rico said. "Sticking the landing's just as important as surviving the drop, bro."

The two of them saw a NAV Marker from the Staff appear on the HUDs. "Come on, let's get moving." Rico said, and started jogging in that general direction. Duncan tagged along, flicking the safety off his rifle just in case.

The meeting point was in a grassy field at the base of the mountain left marred by the CCS. The natural beauty of its western face was left untouched unlike its eastern counterpart.

Duncan and Rico left the tree line and jogged towards the hundreds of other ODSTs heading towards the center. While there were others there sporting many different color accents on their BDU that marked off those with specialties, they already knew who they were looking for. The red-accented armor of the Staff didn't stand out to the normal person looking at the gathering, but Duncan was already used to recognizing it from afar. He and Rico passed through the knee-high grass until they reached him. The rest of the squad was already waiting. The Staff nodded off to them and turned his attention to the Lieutenant Colonel who had positioned himself near the slope of the mountain. An ODST wearing an armor set Duncan had never seen before stood beside him. The bulk of the armor was still ODST save for a few minor changes to the chest cavity. It was the helmet that was off, however, possessing the slit like visor of a Recon variant. That had to be the ONI Agent.

"I want 1st and 2nd Platoons running point on both sides of the furrow." Garrison said. "Once we secure the perimeter, Lieutenant Commander Cordova will take over and lead an insertion team inside. Watch your sectors and be prepared for a quick EVAC if necessary. Let's move out."

Duncan briefly wondered how Garrison felt about having to temporarily relinquish his command to someone who, according to Navy/Marine rank comparisons, was one head shorter than him on the authority totem pole. Still he focused on joining the rest of his squad as Bravo Company fanned out.

The Company broke into two, streaming around the mountain with 1st and 2nd platoon's leading either stream. Squad Epsilon moved slightly behind Eagle but in line with Echo. They spearheaded the movement across the forest, melding with the shadows of trees and dashing through the labyrinth of wooden stalks.

Duncan got a good view of the furrow along the way. It was 20 meters deep and several times that number wide. The bottom was dominated by the deep roots of the trees that likely stood there until they were crushed. The splintered, scorched husks of the decapitated Maples nearest to the furrow were bent away from the site of impact, suggesting it had been a hot landing.

They maneuvered through the torched vegetation for another two kilometers until the rear of the CCS loomed high over them. Where it lay, the battle-cruiser had created an area of open ground surrounded by trees that survived the last of the damage. Dozens of boulders and chunks of debris surrounded the outside of the cruiser. It would make good cover if anything happened. Right now, however, they were potential enemy holdouts.

1st Platoon met with 2nd at the stern then split up again. They carefully scoured through the debris field of boulders and rubble, checking for a possible enemy presence.

Duncan kept his rifle high as he circumvented a rock twice his size. Sweat drifted down his cheek. He turned to the other side and swept it clear. He breathed out in relief and carried on with the rest of Epsilon.

By then the rest of Bravo Company was coming up behind them. 1st platoon moved was about to pass the midsection when Echo-4 came in over comms. "Hey Echo-1. Found something."

The nervousness in her voice added fuel to Duncan's own worries. What had she found exactly?

"On my way." Joels said. Half a minute passed before he came back on, his concern mirroring his subordinate's. "Ugh, Echo-1 to 1-Actual?"

"What is it Echo-1?"

"I…can't send a feed. The camera won't do any justice here. You…might want to see this yourself." He planted a marker on his position about thirty meters into the forest near the ship's bow.

"Ep-1, we'll link up with Echo and finish the sweep there so we can check it out."

"Copy that." The Staff pointed to the rest of Epsilon then to the Marker. The troopers washed through the last of the debris field and slipped into the shadows of the forest again with Eagle coming in behind them. Strangely enough there was a trail leading through the tree line and heading further in. It was well trodden, so it couldn't have been made by Echo. And it definitely couldn't have been made by any colonists since Osiris-7 was never officially colonized. That left a single option. Duncan swallowed and hooked his finger around the trigger of his assault rifle.

They met squad Echo in a large opening in the dense forestry. They had their backs to them when they stepped in. At first Duncan had a hard time figuring out what they were looking at. Then he figured it out once he walked around them. A small stream snaked through the middle of the opening, partitioning it in two before forming a small pond inside the mouth of a large cave. But the cave itself wasn't of any interest. It was what lay inside.

They didn't look like what Duncan was expecting. They looked more like dead lizardmen up close. The flesh on their reverse-jointed legs and claws showed signs of decay. Their dark-gray leathery skin clung tightly to the frame of their humanoid skeletal structure. Then there were their four separate mandibles and snake-like heads whose dry exterior peeled away to reveal bare bones. The one fact Duncan found comfortable about the discovery was that they were all very much so dead.

The Staff and Harper came up beside Joels who nodded at the bodies. "Looks like there were a few survivors."

"Why didn't they bury them?" The Staff asked.

Harper got down into the cave and crouched down beside one, prompting everyone else to reflexively hold their weapons at the ready. Her being so close to it showed Duncan just how big the aliens were, at least twice his own size in comparison. She stared at its closed eyes as if daring them to open. Thankfully, they didn't, which was in the best interest of the alien unless it wanted to die twice over. "Who knows why, these things are the most confusing out of all the Covies, and that's saying something." She said, answering the Staff's earlier question. "The problem now is what it means that they're out here. Ep-4, start a feed and send it to Neptune-Actual."

"Yes mam." Hector said and started recording.

Harper comm'd the Lieutenant Colonel. "This is 1-Actual to Neptune-Actual, we found this about thirty meters out from the crash site. I'm thinking there may be more of them out here that aren't so dead, sir."

A moment later Garrison replied. "I see'em. This changes things…get back here ASAP. The Lieutenant Commander wants you."

"On our way, sir." Harper turned away from the cave and walked out to the others. "Come on people. We're needed elsewhere."

1st Platoon followed her back to the ship, though hesitantly. Duncan couldn't help peering back over his shoulder along the way. Finally seeing the enemy up close had shaken him. They weren't the unstoppable powerhouse he'd anticipated. Or at least they didn't seem like it. Their emaciated bodies matched the image of the civilians they had rescued on Epsilon Eridani IV months prior, not the extraterrestrial foe threatening to wipe out those same civilians. And one of their ships, said to be worth several UNSC frigates in battle, had run aground on the forest floor on a moon of an abandoned colony world, derelict. And they still didn't know why.

Nova must have noticed him worrying again. She had learned how to read him pretty well already over the last few months. She touched him on the shoulder and pointed to her visor. That was her way of saying not to focus on it. Duncan just shrugged. He managed to hide his unease through the gesture because she left him alone afterwards.

They came back out to the crash-site where the rest of Bravo had already taken up defensive positions behind the boulders, a platoon assigned to each sector.

1st Platoon, however, was meant for something else. They found the Lieutenant Colonel standing near the portside hanger bay that was left sealed away by emergency bulkhead doors. The ONI Agent was with him.

Once he saw the ODSTs, Garrison nodded to the Lieutenant Commander and moved off.

"You needed us mam?" Harper asked.

"Actually, I only need one of you." Cordova said, looking them over. "More specifically, I need one of your squads to follow me inside as the infiltration team. I already have 2nd platoon's Squad Hotep standing by on the starboard side. Can you lend me one of yours, Captain?"

Duncan hadn't expected her to be so cordial as to ask the captain for permission. She could've simply made it an order. Harper looked caught off guard by it as well and it took her a second to muster an answer.

She turned to the Staff, signaling him to step up and salute his superiors. "This is Staff Sergeant Atell, callsign Ep-1." Harper introduced. "He's in charge of Squad Epsilon. I guess now you're in charge of him."

The rest of Epsilon stepped up so she could see them. Cordova examined them and nodded, although she pointed to Deaks. "Your sharpshooter will have to stay behind. If there's any fighting inside it'll be close quarters. He'll be out of his depth."

Deaks' shoulders hunched slightly. Duncan could tell he didn't like the assessment too much. The Staff planted a hand on his shoulder and nodded. Deaks gave a reluctant nod back. "Good luck in there." The corporal said before stepping back. "Hey Ep-8, remember what I told you about the Brutes?"

"Yah." Duncan said.

Deaks gave him the thumbs up then stopped beside the Captain.

"Alright." Cordova said, turning to everyone. "Get ready people, we're about to head inside."

"How?" The Staff asked, looking out across the multi-story bulkhead doors. "We'd need a few hours with a blow-torch to get through something like this."

Cordova ignored him. She turned to the ship, raised her hand and started counting down her fingers from three. At one, there was a sound. The low grown of a giant slowly awakening. Whatever mechanisms that controlled the dead ship came to life all at one. The ODSTs backed up with weapons at the ready as the bulkhead doors split apart then slowly slid open.

The noon sunlight filtered into the dark interior of the hanger bay that yawned wide.

Cordova comm'd the other team. "Hotep-1, are you ready for infiltration?"

"Ready on your go." The squad-leader answered, sounding caught off guard.

"Good." She turned to Epsilon, held up her hand and gestured towards the hanger. The ODSTs were more than put off by the fact that the dead Covenant ship had seemingly just obeyed her command. Duncan felt a small shock of fear travel up his spine.

Despite their confusion, questions would have to come later. The ODSTs stacked up on either side of the hanger doors and walked along its lip, clearing the bottom floor. Visibility cutout at about 10 meters. They would have to use their VISRs for this one.

The Staff was the first in, pulling himself inside. He helped them in one after the other. When it was Cordova's turn, he briefly hesitated then grabbed her hand and pulled her up. He let her walk past and join the others heading deeper into the hanger. He stood off, watching her from behind. Duncan had noticed him however and asked, "Something wrong sir?"

The Staff slowly shook his head. "Actually." He turned around and went back to the doors. Duncan came up behind him to see what was wrong. The answer: Zack.

He was still outside, his back to the hanger doors. He was staring at an empty space further along the hull.

"Ep-7, get in here." The Staff whispered harshly. It got the radiomen's attention.

He ran over and held out his hands, allowing them to help pull him inside. It was a bit more of an effort thanks to his radio equipment.

"Sorry Staff." He apologized. "Thought I saw something."

"The only thing I need you to see is which way we're going." The Staff scolded and pushed him in the direction of the rest of the squad. While the Staff followed suit, Duncan felt a need to look back at the doors.

There was nothing there except the backs of 1st platoon setting up defensive postures around the perimeter. So why were his instincts screaming at him that there was someone standing there, at the doors, staring right back at him?

But there was nothing there.

"Ep-8, come on." The Staff called. They were already headed to the opposite side of the hanger. Duncan pushed the thought aside, dismissing it as his own fears, and ran after the rest of the squad.

:********:

Paro Cassumee watched the humans pass within a few stretches of himself as they entered the ship. He held back his revulsion as they desecrated its interior with every step they took inside. He could have reached for the closest one, the human with the device on his back, grabbed him by the neck onehanded and snapped it before he even had a chance to scream. His Sangheili blood boiled with righteous indignation at watching the infidels go unchallenged, but he had to restrain his fervor. For the time being it was a necessary indignation. Afterall, he hadn't endured several cycles on this filthy human satellite to have his intentions foiled by his own impatience.

He waited, had been waiting.

Yet his chance was almost foiled by a second human. As he came up to the hanger doors, one of them had stood there, looking him right in the eyes. He briefly worried that the vermin had spotted him, then calmed himself once he remembered that his active camouflaging unit was still active.

In the end the detestable creature turned away and went after the others, allowing Paro to breathe a sigh of relief. He nodded to the two other shimmers on either side of him and entered the hanger bay in a single step. His two subordinates came in after him. Together they followed the humans, stalking them like shadows through the bowels of their stolen ship.

Ruina - Crash


	17. Heart of Sacrifice- Chapter 2 (Indes)

Chapter 2 - Indespectus

July 2nd, 2544 (13:45 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aratus Sulfi System, Near former colony world of New Bara

Osiris-7, inside crashed CCS Battlecruiser

:********:

Duncan scanned the smooth purple walls of the hallway leading deeper into the ship. Nova moved beside him with her SMG, the two of them taking point as the rest of the squad followed.

The strange part about how they got here, at least strange to Duncan, was that while everything else seemed relatively offline, the door to this passageway had enough power to open for them. He snuck a glance at the Lieutenant Commander. She walked with the rest of the squad as if she were one of them, examining the way ahead with her M6 Magnum. For some reason he found it mildly off-putting.

He'd heard even more rumors about ONI during his downtime in the Dante Building and hanging around ODSTs from Bravo's sister companies. What he had hoped was that someone like what he'd heard would seem a lot less like himself. Yet Cordova melded in with their ranks easily. He couldn't help thinking of her as a bear in wolf's clothing.

More importantly, he still had no clue where they were going. At Cordova's orders they would go down one corridor then come up what he felt was the same passageway. Everything looked the same in the dark.

"How much further, Lieutenant Commander?" The Staff asked.

"It should be-"

The lights in the hallway they were in suddenly turned on. The polished purple sheen of the interior possessed a surprisingly majestic and refined quality that was striking compared to its UNSC counterpart. There was, however, an eyesore. It was an Elite Minor sprawled over the floor just several meters ahead of them.

The ODSTs centered their gunsights on it and carefully advanced. Duncan reached it first and gave it a wide berth as he sidestepped around it. The Elite looked like it had been clawing at the deck with one hand while clutching its neck with the other. The way it was decaying told Duncan it had been dead for some time. He softly kicked the larger creature's hand.

It didn't move.

Zack came up and unabashedly socked it in the side of the face with his boot, causing the body to shift a bit before resettling. "What'd you think happened to this one?"

"Doesn't look like he was fighting anyone." Cordova commented, examining the body. "Looks like suffocation."

That was a clue, Duncan realized. "Is that it then? A bad-hull breach somehow caused the ship to crash here?"

Cordova looked at him but said nothing else on the subject. "Let's keep moving."

Orders were orders. Still, he wanted at least one question answered about this whole situation.

Duncan carried on with Nova down the hallway. But the further they went the more questions he had thanks to the growing number of bodies they started running into. They found a pair of the humanoid, avian reptiles lying dead against the walls of the hallway. Their U-shaped plasma pistols rested loosely in their hands.

"I guess these guys suffocated too?" Nova asked.

Cordova repeated her earlier response. "Keep moving."

They did. After turning another corner Duncan almost tripped over the cone-shaped methane tank of one of the five Grunts lying facedown on the floor. Hector caught him by his rucksack and helped him back on his feet, an uneasy balancing act for the larger ODST given the SPANKR on his back.

On closer inspection the team of Grunts looked more like alien turtles. To Duncan their amphibian features, arms and legs looked ready to retract into their orange chest armor like a shell. While they were squat beings they could probably reach up to his shoulder if they stood upright. But he would probably unload half a clip into their face if they tried it.

"Geez." Zack said. "Even the Fart Breathers are dead?"

Duncan turned to him. "What?"

"You ever smelt what they breathe in, man?" He pointed to their masks which had been pulled out of their mouths to reveal a more than unsettling sight for a dentist. Maybe it was a good thing Deaks wasn't here.

"Are you saying you actually tried one of their masks before?" Nova asked.

Zack traced a smirk across his visor. "I'm open to new experiences."

Nova and Duncan shook their heads and started stepping over the bodies.

"These set don't rely on oxygen, they're methane breathers." Cordova said. "Suction from a breach in the hull likely pulled their masks off and they never got them back on."

"So, a hull breach then?" The Staff asked, having watched her from the side of his visor.

Cordova ignored him. "Let's keep moving."

Duncan almost had it with her telling them to keep moving when he stopped, although not out of disobedience. It was more so because while being on a derelict alien ship, the last thing he was expecting to see was a human being.

Well, it wasn't a human exactly. The holographic figure glowed a ghostly green. He wore an emerald suit and tie and sat in a wheelchair. The way his elderly face and thoughtful eyes turned to the ODSTs as they rounded the corner made Duncan think he had just come from a somber conversation with someone. Then that melancholy feature transformed to genuine joy, like a grandfather seeing his grandchildren at a family reunion.

Duncan knew who he was. At the same time, he didn't have a clue. In high school he had studied North American history. He'd learned about the former United States that fought in the Second World War. He started piecing it together. That was it. He was President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Then Duncan realized that couldn't be right because FDR had died almost 600 years ago. He mentally slapped himself at remembering it was just an AI with his exact appearance, not the man himself.

The green Roosevelt held up a holographic martini cocktail in one hand and tipped it towards them. "Its about time you showed up." He said boldly. "I was worried Churchill would've gotten to me sooner so he could bug me about getting more involved in Europe." He took a sip of the martini and looked reflectively at the digital fluids swirling inside.

Duncan and the others slowly approached the AI, still uncertain why it was even here. Its 2-foot tall projection sat atop an active Covenant holotank which emitted his image with crisp resolution.

The troopers stopped a few steps shy of his tank. He noticed. "Well come on now, I'm not going to bite. Not you of course." He cocked his head, looking past them. "You on the other hand…"

He was gesturing at Cordova who stepped out in front. She took off her helmet, allowing her dark wavy hair to fall freely onto her shoulders. She returned a small smile. "It's good to see you too, Mr. Green."

The AI did a graceful bow in his wheelchair. "Took you long enough, dearie. All I've been able to do this whole time is think, and you know that's not good for my health." He knocked back the rest of his cocktail, looked at the glass and flicked his hand. The glass shattered into a shower of broken fragments. He stretched out his hand beneath it and it began to take shape. It formed into a labyrinth of interconnected hallways and chambers.

"You are here." He pointed out a hallway where multiple yellow dots glowed.

"I, however, am in the Transmissions Section of the ship here." He highlighted an ovular chamber that lay a few hallways away. "I'll send the directions to your Heads Up Displays. Please don't take forever. I'm still not certain that I've successfully dealt with all the crew."

The AI's image disappeared as the holotank deactivated. His quick departure left the rest of the squad reeling.

"Umm…what was that?" Zack asked.

The Staff rounded on Cordova and refined the original question. "What exactly is our actual mission here?"

Before the Lieutenant Commander could answer, a NAV Marker appeared on their HUDs. It showed 197 meters distance to their objective, whatever that was.

"Our goal." Cordova began. "Is to reach the Transmissions Section of the ship for the purpose of securing an Armored AI Matrix stored there. We can worry about the SOS later."

"Armored Matrix?" Nova questioned. "Mam, are you saying that the AI we just saw is connected to the ship?"

Cordova gathered her hair up and slid her helmet back on "Yes. It's our job to extract him from the ship at all costs. His safety is currently our top priority."

Nova shook her head. "But…how can that even be? You're saying he's in control of the ship? How did he even get connected, yet alone know how to pilot this tub?"

"You have a lot of questions and I can't give all the answers. So, let's go." Cordova walked on. The ODSTs had no choice except to follow her.

Duncan sensed this mission was getting stranger. First there was an enemy ship crashed in the middle of nowhere and now they were about to rescue the human AI piloting it. Then again, this was an ONI-supervised operation. That was probably for good reason.

:********:

Garrison observed the perimeter that his ODSTs had setup around the ship with eyes set for details. He patrolled around the vessel checking for weaknesses. On the portside he had already ordered 5th Platoon's Squads Goliath and Guardian to form a tighter defense around the midsection and had 2nd Platoon's Squads Horus and Hornet spread out more around the bow. His primary concern now was 1st Platoon.

They were the smallest platoon in Bravo with only three squads. And one of them was currently running through the CCS. That left the rest of the platoon undermanned as they setup a defensive line near the hanger. He worried that they wouldn't be enough to protect that part of the ship. While they were admittedly one of his best platoons, he didn't want to take any chances. But it couldn't be helped. There weren't more ODSTs to grant them a stronger defense. His only option was to hope that Epsilon's sniper would be able to detect any threats afar off.

Under Captain Harper's orders, Corporal Deaks had setup an overwatch position atop the cruiser. He'd fired a harpoon using his SRS-99 into the hull then climbed up an attached rope onto the top of the ship to setup his rifle.

Garrison watched him swivel his sniper from left to right, slowly scanning the tree-line. Hotep-3 had also setup a sniper post on the opposite side of the cruiser to provide overwatch for Squads Goliath and Guardian. They were an early detection system for any approaching threat.

Garrison's attention switched to the Spear of Odysseus as his HUD received a hail request from the ship. "This is USC Spear of Odysseus to Neptune-Actual; do you copy?" It was the man in charge of the cruiser, Captain Archibald.

"Go ahead, Spear."

"We're getting a little antsy just hanging around up here. So far, no Covenant have showed up but we don't want to press our luck. Any updates?"

"The Lieutenant Commander hasn't said anything yet. I'm checking up on them in a minute for a progress report."

"We're counting on it-"

"This is 5-Actual to Neptune-Actual, we've got a problem, sir." The Captain of 5th Platoon's voice came in over another frequency, the urgency evident in his voice. Garrison quickly squelched the conversation with Archibald.

"What's the situation, 5-Actual?"

"It's Hotep-3, sir." The Captain answered. "He's not responding. We can see him on top of the cruiser. He's just lying there."

Garrison instinctually flicked the safety off his rifle. "Any shots fired? Any ordinance?"

"No sir. From what I can see he's just unresponsive."

That was strange. Unless…

Garrison whipped his head around to where he knew Ep-3 would be. Only, the ODST wasn't there. Instead, he was casually walking away from where he had been lying down on the cruiser's topside, his sniper already on his back as he headed for the rope. Confusion hit Garrison like a tidal wave at seeing the ODST seemingly abandoning his position without any express permission to do so. Yet he was walking as if it weren't a problem.

:********:

It started the moment Deaks felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His instincts told him to move. He was only able to confirm what the problem was when there was comm-chatter about his counterpart, Hotep-3, who had gone silent on the other side of the ship. It was then that he understood that the top of the cruiser was probably the last place he wanted to be. So he got up, packed up his sniper and went on his merry way.

But the hair on the back of his neck was still standing. He could sense what the cause of the sensation was. He amped up his armor's auditory sensors and picked up more on the sound of his own boots clanking across the metal surface. Then he gradually detected another set of footsteps coming from behind, slow and cautious but keeping pace.

Deaks slowly eased one hand towards his M6 magnum while he hooked his thumb into the firing pin of an EMP grenade with the other. He pulled the pin on the grenade and started counting off the seconds. All the while he kept walking casually down the sloping surface towards the rope.

Five.

Garrison came in over comms. "This is Neptune-Actual to Ep-3. You mind telling me where you're going, son?"

Four.

Deaks spotted the Lieutenant Colonel staring up at him from the ground with Harper and a few others. He didn't like the audience they were giving him because he knew there was a good chance that they were about to watch him die.

Three.

"Don't worry sir." He replied, his grin evident in his voice. "I just need to kill this jerk in active cammo up here."

Two.

"What?" Garrison asked.

Deaks didn't hear the rest of what he had to say. Without warning he swiveled about and threw the EMP grenade. He fell into a crouch and took aim with his pistol, watching the explosive sail through the air.

One.

The grenade detonated in a blinding flash that forced his helmet to polarize. The brief illumination faded away, allowing him to see the shimmering outline of a figure that staggered back from the force of the detonation. Its translucent shields flickered then failed, revealing the crimson and silver armor of a Spec Ops Elite. At two meters tall it easily towered over him and the blazing blue eyes of its helmet stared down the barrel of his M6.

"Hey there." Deaks said and pulled the trigger. He didn't miss. With its shields down, two 40mm rounds caught it in the chest and another in the arm. The Elite ducked beneath the last shots and lunged forward with unreal speed. An energy sword flashed to life in its hand. Deaks threw himself onto his stomach, dodging a wide swipe meant to cut him in half. The weapon's intense heat washed over him and his skin bristled. He rolled away and down towards the rope. The Elite pursued, leaping forward again. Deaks pulled his legs in close to his chest which saved him as the twin forks of azure energy stabbed down into the hull an inch away. He slid over the edge, spotted the rope, grabbed it with both hands, clamped his boots around it and rappelled down to safety.

He lost his grip a few meters to the ground and landed hard on his back. Winded by the fall, he blinked away the stars from his vision and looked up. The Elite stared down at him from the edge of the top of the cruiser. Its freehand balled into an enraged fist.

ODSTs from Squad Echo ran up to him and dragged him away while the rest of 1st platoon took aim. The Elite now found itself in their collective sites and it turned to retreat.

"Open fire!" Garrison ordered.

In an instant the air was full of hot led all aimed at the Elite. A few well-placed shots found their mark. However, the Elite managed to dash far enough away from the edge to be out of range.

No sooner did he disappear than a hail of green plasma fire washed over them, catching two troopers in the back. They screamed and fell over as their comrades ducked and crouched to their cover.

Figures moved under the shadows of the trees. Scores of Grunts and Jackals armed with energy shields opened fire from behind them. Among them were Elite Minors who directed them while squeezing off bursts of blue energy from their plasma rifles.

"Contacts!" Harper yelled. "Twenty meters out!"

"Return fire!" Garrison ordered. The ODSTs' weapons stuttered out bursts of ballistic death at the enemy. Led rounds and blue and yellow plasma filled the air between the CCS and the surrounding forest as Covenant forces around the ship revealed themselves and engaged. The troopers met them with fierce resistance, using the debris field and boulders for cover and filling any enemy they saw with bullets.

"Bravo Company, hold your positions!" Garrison said over Company comms. "Focus on pushing them back! Search and Destroy can come later!"

He switched to a direct comm-link to Deaks.

"Ep-3, target their officers!" He ordered while reloading his MA37 then peeking out to squeeze half the magazine into a duo of advancing grunts. Blue blood flew out and they yelped in high pitched squeals as they were cutdown.

"No problem sir." Deaks replied. He crawled on his hands and knees through the debris field and crab-walked along boulders until he found one of suitable size. He shouldered his sniper, slid around the side and sighted down the scope. His trained eyes sifted through the tree-line and spotted at least nine good targets in less than two seconds.

He homed in on an Elite in orange armor ushering a squad of Jackals and Grunts forward. His circular targeting reticle turned red when he centered it on its head. He thought better of it and aimed at its mouth which showed rows of razor-like teeth as it gave out orders.

"Hello officer." He grinned and pulled the trigger.

:********:

Duncan spotted the last door and called it out. Unlike the several that they had already passed through on their way here, the lights on this one glowed red. It was locked.

"Green." Cordova said.

The AI's voice quipped over the ship's comm system. "Don't rush me dearie, I didn't rush you with how long you took to get here. One moment please."

A second later the door slid apart.

The ovular chamber on the other side spanned a diameter of 30 meters from side to side. Several large pillars containing inactive communication conduits dominated the space. They formed a circle around a central pillar.

Duncan spotted something inside a capsule within the central pillar. It was a cylindrical device with handles on both ends whose form was hooked up to multiple wires that pulsed a vibrant blue.

Cordova placed a NAV Marker on it. "There's the Matrix."

"Ep-2, get on it." The Staff said.

Nova flashed her acknowledgement light and the squad moved forward. There was still collective concern regarding the fighting outside that they heard over comms. Like the AI had suggested, there were some survivors left from the crash. For the time being the rest of Bravo were holding fast.

Duncan was wondering where these survivors could have been hiding until Hotep-1's frantic voice came in over comms. He heard gunfire.

"Hotep-1 to LC! We've encountered multiple Spec Ops Elites in active cammo and are pinned down! We cannot, I repeat, we cannot make it to Transmissions!"

Duncan glanced at the others who were all tense with their weapons up, scanning the room for shimmers.

"Hold your ground, Hotep." Cordova replied. "Forget reaching Transmissions and eliminate the enem-"

They all heard it at the same time, the sound of the door they had come through hissing open again. They spun around and fired through the doorway. Their bullets hit nothing but the walls of the empty hallway.

Before they could investigate, bursts of plasma fire launched at them from several different directions.

"Cover!" The Staff ordered. The troopers fell back behind the pillars and aimed out. There was nothing there. Then plasma shot at them again, materializing seemingly out of thin air.

:********:

Paro Cassumee had stalked the humans through the fallen battlecruiser all the way to the Transmissions Section. His subordinates, much like himself, had remained at a distance, stopping when they stopped and watching for when they moved again.

For the seasoned Sangheili Special Operations Unit Commander, the entire occasion was humiliating beyond words. He swore to himself that if he survived this then his disgrace would never make it to being recorded in the Cassumee Saga on the walls of his clan's Keep. It wasn't only the fact that he was cautiously following humans within the very ship that he had once proudly walked through, but the fact that they were doing so as the result of his own ambitions.

It had all started what felt like an eternity ago. Back then, this very same battlecruiser, the Heart of Sacrifice, had been a part of a fleet of holy ships. After seizing navigational data from the dead hands of the crew of a captured human freighter, they had discovered another one of their worlds: Estuary. The very fact that the vile creatures had the gall to name a planet filled him and countless other Holy Warriors with rage. Their impassioned anger was brought to full fruition as their Supreme Commander ordered its destruction.

They cut down the defenders easily, both in space and on the ground. Before they began the righteous work of cleansing the surface, Paro and his team went down to search a certain structure that they believed might contain valuable information on more human settlements. His warriors discovered a strange device. It had been of keen interest to the humans since they sacrificed so many of their number simply to protect it. So he decided that he would take it with them. He'd believed it would reveal useful information that would help in their crusade against the humans. What he hadn't known at the time was that by bringing it onto the ship, he had consequently damned everyone onboard.

As the cleansing of the world began, he gave the device to a group of Huragok to keep it in storage.

He only understood later that something was wrong when he, like many others onboard, suddenly found that they couldn't breathe. He was fortunate enough to have his armor on which possessed a sufficient amount of oxygen. His Spec Ops team also mostly survived. Most of the crew were not so fortunate. He was forced to watch many of his brothers die by slow asphyxiation.

Then the ship moved as if of its own mind. It turned away from the dying human world and quickly entered slipspace.

Paro tried contacting the bridge but it was useless. The ship's comms were dead. Then the doors started to lockdown, cutting him and his team off from any survivors.

Something was wrong and he knew it. They had received no orders from their Supreme Commander or their Fleetmaster to leave the system. Either their Shipmaster had lost his mind or something else was at play here.

He led his team in carving through the sealed doors until they reached the bridge. By then the oxygen was returning to the ship. It had come too late, however, to save the bridge crew. Even the Shipmaster had perished with his hands at his throat.

With no one at the helm, not visibly at least, he accessed the ship's camera systems and found the source of the problem. It was the transmission's section. Someway, somehow, the Huragok had gone against his orders and placed the device in a connective terminal within the Transmissions Section of the Sacrifice, then proceeded to link it to the ship. All of this without his expressed permission. The Huragok lay dead, having asphyxiated also. He wondered what had possessed them to disobey to such a drastic degree. But it was already too late.

Whatever was inside the device was in control of the Sacrifice.

Paro led his team to try and disconnect it from the vessel but were held back by more locked doors as well as times when the oxygen would run out. This unknown enemy was resisting them fiercely. He decided to instead disconnect the Transmission's Section from the ship's slipspace drive manually.

Immediately the ship fell out of slipspace. However, their sudden entrance into real space damaged their shields. They began to fall. He headed back to the bridge and saw that they were plummeting through the atmosphere of a natural sattelite.

With their foe still in control of the ship, the CCS' shields dissipated and the reentry flames burned the hull which explosively decompressed in multiple sectors. Some of the crew were set aflame and burned alive while others died as the air was sucked out of their compartments.

They were thrown about wildly as the Heart of Sacrifice crashed into a mountain. They speared through the forest vegetation before sliding to a halt, leaving a two-Why can't they just let the kilometer scar in the ground.

Paro got the hanger bays open and helped the survivors limp out. Before they could gather their wits and come back onboard to gather supplies, the ship's bulkhead doors slammed into place and sealed them out completely. No matter how they searched there was no way in. So they were stuck on the surface of this moon.

For days the surviving crew were forced to forage off of what the surface had to offer. However, a number of them refused to eat or drink anything from this world. From what he knew, they had detected the remains of a human presence on the neighboring planet. Logic dictated that this moon had been defiled by the humans. Though they never encountered any in their sojourn here, the fact that the vegetation came from their hands was enough to make many of the more zealous Sangheili within the crew engage in a fast. He admired their zealotry but didn't indulge in it. Afterall, a living warrior was more useful to the Covenant than a dead one.

He watched them slowly waste away until the last of them perished. They decided not to bury them since it would desecrate their bodies to inter them in such a filthy place.

Not long after they crashed, they discovered that the ship's SOS was activated. The unknown enemy had probably initialized the beacon. His sole question was why. It had to have known that it would get the attention of more Covenant ships, reinforcements. So why?

It gave Paro the impression that it was enacting some plan. He decided to have the crew of the Sacrifice remain hidden, camped within the surrounding forest just in case.

Then the humans came.

Paro ordered the crew to wait for his orders while he and his team inserted into the ship. The goal was to use the humans to regain access to the interior. That plan was working well so far as he was now firing on them inside of the Transmission's Section. He and his subordinates hosed them down with plasma fire, keeping them pinned behind the pillars of the communication conduits. Behind them was the origin of this entire problem, the cylindrical construct nestled in the central pillar. He was going to destroy it no matter the cost.

"Vek, Ca'ul." He said over his personal comms. "Rush them and force them to the other side of the pillars. I need an opening to destroy that wretched device."

His warriors replied with heated fervor.

"It will be done, Commander."

"We'll tear them apart and retake the ship."

Paro nodded. "Go!"

On his signal, the two Sangheili rushed forward, firing, their plasma rifles. The blasts scorched and melted through the pillars' metal casings, causing the humans behind them to duck back. The Sangheili had to move quickly before they could respond.

Paro rushed forward a few stretches behind them. He saw something round fly out from behind one pillar. He instantly recognized it and leaped back. Vek who was closer also recognized it and jumped to the side as it landed, bounced and detonated.

Vek had landed close to Ca'ul and they ran forward. However, both of them didn't see the second grenade in time as it landed a footstep away then bounced between them.

Paro watched them momentarily disappear in the explosion then reappear as they came out of the smoke. Vek hurdled through the air and landed on the ground, motionless. Ca'ul came out clutching the innards spilling out of his chest but kept charging and firing. Paro charged as well, firing at the humans as they stepped out from behind their cover.

He watched Ca'ul become the focus of a hail of human ballistic fire that ripped through his unshielded armor. After three straight seconds spent enduring the barrage he fell forward and hit the ground. An honorable death.

Paro only hoped he could do the same. Ca'ul and Vek had bought him the time he needed to get so close that he rushed past the humans. He ignored them, whipped out his energy sword and activated it. He leaped up with his sword arm leading and arced towards the cylindrical device, ready to lash out.

He heard a thumping sound and a flash of light in the corner of his vision caught his attention. His eyes twitched to the right and saw something large zooming towards him. It was the last thing he ever saw.

:********:

Duncan watched the rocket slam into the Elite's frame. The explosion engulfed it in flames. From the resultant smoke came nothing but an arm and a lower torso that spiraled away then fell to the ground in a bloody heap.

"Got'em." Hector said, sounding proud as he lowered the smoking barrel of his SPANKR.

Cordova rounded on him. "What was that, trooper!? You almost hit the Matrix!"

Hector looked at her and shrugged. "No one else could've killed it in time, I had no choice."

Cordova stared at him hard then refocused on the Matrix. "Let's get this over with."

By then Nova was already climbing up the pillar. Once she reached the terminal, she took a small blowtorch from her rucksack. She started searing through the pulsing wires connecting it to the ship. "Sorry about the rough extract, Green. I hope you disconnected yourself already."

Emerald light flashed from the glass of the matrix. A projection of the AI appeared on the ground with everyone else and he pushed his wheelchair forward. "That's Mr. Green to you, young woman. And also,"

He turned to Cordova. "You should know that once you disconnect me, the SOS signal will be out of my control."

Nova stopped. "Wait, what!? I thought we were trying to get him out to stop the signal."

Cordova slowly shook her head. "No."

The secretive tone of her words and what they entailed got everyone's attention. They peered over their shoulders at her while keeping their weapons aimed out.

"Our complete goal." Cordova said. "Is to extract this AI and leave the SOS signal going."

"And why's that?" The Staff asked, suspicious.

Mr. Green answered by holding out his palm. Over it, the image appeared of the planet of New Bara and its two moons. Then the image changed when a CCS highlighted in red exited slipspace near the former colony. Two more immediately followed, then another six.

"That's why." He said.

Duncan felt a familiar chill run up his spine at the sight of the cruisers. The enemy was here en masse.

Cordova looked up to Nova and nodded. The Specialist held the blow torch and the last several wires like the heart of a dying patient. Her grip tightened around the torch.

Mr. Green's projection faded away when Nova cut the last wire and pulled the Matrix free.

Lieutenant Colonel Garrison came in over comms, sounding alert. "Squads' Epsilon and Hotep, get back out here ASAP! Covenant ships have entered the system! We're leaving now!"

"On our way." Cordova answered. She switched to a direct line to Hotep-1. "Get out of here, Hotep, we've gotten what we came for."

"No problem. Spec Ops Elites are down and we're out of here."

Nova slid down the central pillar and handed the matrix to the Lieutenant Commander who connected it to the magnetic harness on her back. "Let's move out."

Squad Epsilon rushed out of the chamber and back down the hall they had come in through. They dashed through the hallways and around corners while checking every shadow for a shimmer that might betray more camouflaged Elites.

Thankfully, there were no more ambushes along the way.

They came back out into the hanger. Beyond the door they saw scores of ODSTs rushing past, heading towards the bow. They leaped outside and joined them.

Around the debris field they saw scores of dead Covenant soldiers lying on the ground. Elites, Jackals and Grunts had bathed the dirt in their blue blood, the sign of a total defeat. There were spots of red blood sprinkled throughout the scene, however, attesting to a hard battle won.

A dozen Pelicans soared overhead. The dropships landed at the space near the bow of the CCS two at a time due to the closeness of the forest. Troopers swarmed into their blood trays until they were filled to max capacity. Some of the troopers even had to hold onto the overhead handles since there were no more seats. Some carried body bags between them. Then they took off, allowing the next pair of Pelicans to land.

Garrison ushered the troopers onboard. He spotted Epsilon and quickly pointed them to one of the Pelicans. They rushed aboard. Deaks was already sitting inside with helmet in hand. He grinned at them as they settled in. "Had a nice field trip?"

"Not really." Nova sighed.

Deaks spotted Cordova taking the matrix off her back and cradling it in her arms so she could sit down. "What'd you guys get out of the ship exactly?"

"Good question." The Staff said, looking at her as he took his own seat opposite the officer. She said nothing in reply, only watched the cylinder closely.

The door to the blood tray closed. The Pelican rose twenty meters then rocketed upwards. The trip lasted less than three minutes and was mostly quiet. Thankfully, the trip was shortened since the Spear of Odysseus had come deeper into the atmosphere to make the pick-up. The hanger doors opened wide to receive them.

The rest of Bravo Company came in after them. After ten minutes the last Pelican had come aboard. They felt the ship turn and leave the atmosphere of Osiris-7. A moment later the Spear of Odysseus lanced into the depths of slipspace.

Indespectus – Invisible


	18. Heart of Sacrifice- Chapter 3 (Intelligentia)

Chapter 3 - Intelligentia

(7th Cycle, 49 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)

Aratus Sulfi System, Near newly discovered human world

Aboard CCS Battlecruiser Diligent Atonement

:********:

Dressed in his golden combat harness, Fleetmaster Ruca Voramee strode with dignified authority across the bridge of the Diligent Atonement. He marched up the ramp onto the circular Command Platform just as the ship eased out of slipspace.

The planet that revealed itself to him on the central screen immediately gained his attention. He eyed its blue and gray atmosphere, observed its vast oceans, examined its continents, islands and poles and imagined them all aglow with flames. It was a glorious daydream, one he would soon make reality with a single order, a single word.

"Urzai?" Ruca asked, his eyes focused on the screen. "Where is it?"

To the left of the command platform, the Diligent Atonement's Communications Officer, Urzai Utaralee listened to reports from other ships and typed away with furious intensity at the celestial coordinates passing through his station.

"It appears to have crashed on one of the two moons of this world near the equatorial latitudes."

The screen before the Fleetmaster changed to show another planetoid with visible vegetation on the surface. The image zoomed in to a scarred forest. He traced the scar to its end. There, the Heart of Sacrifice lay like a fallen warrior cast far from home.

"What has that foolish shipmaster done?" Ruca hissed under his breath.

Urzai cut in. "The distress signal is still active. However, they have yet to answer our hails."

"Nor will they." Ruca said. "How can the dead speak from beyond the grave? Send the Purity of Purpose to investigate that moon and the derelict ship. I want to know what possessed them to leave the battle without my permission. As for the rest of the Subfleet, our business…" He watched the screen change back to the human world. "Is here."

"Shall I prepare?" It was the Atonement's Weapons Officer, Zora 'Tou Serulee. The Sangheili looked up at the Fleetmaster from his Weapon's station to the right of the command platform. There was a discernable degree of anticipation in his demeanor.

Ruca was pleased by his humble readiness for such sacred work. Both he and his crew had waited days while searching for traces of the Heart of Sacrifice's slipspace wake not long after it fled from the battle. He hadn't expected to suddenly receive the missing vessel's distress signal only earlier today, yet alone to follow it and find a completely new world. More importantly, a human world. There was at least that much to be thankful for. A single one of his ships for another of their planets was a fair trade. His only concern was how many of his ships he might have to sacrifice to find more of them.

"Drain 60% of our available plasma from the capacitors to both fore and mid-ship energy projectors. Send this order to the rest of the Subfleet and have them advance towards the target alongside the Atonement."

Zora's upper and lower mandibles eagerly clicked together in a biting motion. "Understood, Fleetmaster." He turned to his console and began typing in the necessary firing solutions that he would send to the other nine ships. Though he couldn't see his face, Ruca knew that the Weapon's Officer was probably grinning with satisfaction. He often became so excitable when an occasion came for him to demonstrate his specialties.

"Urzai. Send a message to the Supreme Commander. Inform him of our discovery."

"Yes, Fleetmaster." Urzai replied. "Be advised, the Purity of Purpose has detected a single human ship in system…it just entered slipspace. Their wake will be gone in five units. The shipmaster is requesting permission to pursue."

Ruca thought on it, then decided. "No. They're only retreating. Tell the Purity to stay on its course towards that moon." The image of the Sacrifice flashed through his mind. He said under his breath. "I've been separated from and lost enough of my ships already. Just one of their worlds will suffice for now. There will undoubtedly be more for us to burn later."

From his console in front of the Command Platform, the ship's Navigational Officer, Fal Cassumee examined his display and the image of the planet, rubbing a finger across his mandibles in thought. "Where shall we begin, Fleetmaster? There are so many places to choose from."

"We will start on the northernmost continent then work our way across the northwest hemisphere and past the equator. The rest of the fleet will help us once they arrive. As for the Atonement, we'll begin with the Northern Pole."

"Understood, Fleetmaster." Fal said and swiftly began sending out the necessary attack coordinates to the rest of the Subfleet. He was a prodigious helmsman, the proverbial rudder of the ship, and he piloted the Atonement towards the surface of the world.

As they passed through the atmosphere the bridge crew continued to work at their individual stations. Ruca Voramee was left to watch the screen which showed his own ship along with the near dozen under his command heading through the northern atmosphere.

In short time the Atonement came to settle over an expansive icescape.

"Capacitors are drained to 40%. Fore and Midship Energy Projectors are fully charged. Gravitic Impellors and Magnetic Lensings are primed." Zora turned to his commanding officer. "On your command, Fleetmaster."

Ruca nodded and eyed the icescape one last time, looking over its barren lands for a moment. "Commence purification."

Zora did as he was ordered. The ship's two energy projectors fired, unleashing high intensity plasma beams whose red color illuminated the air, searing the landscape below as the sky around them changed to an angry-crimson hue.

Ruca watched the destruction. Then something crossed his mind, a thought. He quickly rejected it, cut it down at the knees and strangled it into submission. It was one that should never be found in Sangheili. Its fears and doubts had already tormented him for so long that he knew how to circumvent and squelch it before it got out of hand, before it asked the question that he could never answer. He refuted it with faith as often as he would like. Still, it always briefly resurfaced at times like these, making him imagine his homeworld in the place of the one he was actively burning.

That thought, he swore, would never come to fruition. Though the question remained, his faith proved stronger, at least for the moment, allowing him to focus on the glassing of the newest addition to a long list of human worlds reduced to cinders.

:********:

Garrison made his way through the halls of B-deck on the Spear of Odysseus, intent on reaching its debriefing room. At current the ship was headed on a random slipspace trajectory, not immediately inbound to any human colonies as per the requirements of Subsection 4, Article 1 of the Cole Protocol. Thankfully it was only that subsection and not the rest of the exhaustive list of precautions meant to keep the Covenant from finding humanity's most prized possession.

They had at minimum another month before they would arrive back at Reach. But he didn't care for waiting so long for a debrief. He wanted answers because as far as he could tell, the entire operation had been a colossal failure. The Covenant had ultimately followed the SOS to the Aratus Sulfi System and undoubtedly found the downed cruiser. They were forced to abandon their charge as a result. Right now, he needed to know what had been accomplished that was worth the blood of Bravo Company ODSTs left spilt on Osiris-7.

He found the room only after asking around for the better part of an hour. The set of double-doors were sealed shut. He tried the handle but it was locked. He noticed a retinal scanner and stepped over to it. A hazy cone of holographic light examined his retinas.

A moment later the doors opened. Lieutenant Commander Cordova peeked out. She looked surprised to see him. "Lieutenant Colonel Garrison, I wasn't expecting you, sir."

"I need to speak with you." Garrison said plainly, discarding formalities altogether.

"I-, I'm…sorry but I'm in the middle of a debriefing."

"And I'm about to be in the middle of one as well."

Cordova could probably tell from the underlying sharpness in his tone that he meant business.

"Is it in regard to the operation, sir?"

"Bullseye."

The ONI agent looked around and thought over her options. Garrison didn't give her many. He had positioned himself so that he was practically inside the doorway already.

She relented. "Please come in then, sir. There's much to discuss."

"I hope so." Garrison said. She let him step inside.

The debriefing room was a rectangular space with a similarly shaped table. Its brown sheen reflected the overhead lights in such a way that he could tell it was made of hickory wood. Its earthy scent filled the room.

"I lost twelve of my guys down there." Garrison said, turning to Cordova. "And I've got twice that many being treated in the Med Bay on C deck. We didn't leave with that cruiser or any Covenant tech from what I saw. So, tell me, what did my troopers die back there for exactly?"

Cordova nodded and pointed to one of the seats. He reluctantly pulled it out and sat down opposite her. "I'll tell you what I've been given clearance to."

Garrison gestured with open hands towards her and rest them on his lap, expecting answers.

"Mr. Green, would you kindly?"

"Certainly, dearie." A disembodied voice said. The overhead lights darkened. A section in the middle of the table opened up, revealing a UNSC-issue holotank. It turned on, emitting Mr. Green's image. To say it was confusing for Garrison to see a 4th Generation Smart AI moving about the table like a paralytic in a wheelchair was a serious understatement. It was like a sick joke, or perhaps a carefully thought-out oxymoron that a construct with near god-like omnipresence was limited to a wheelchair. It was like looking at the interpretation of the paradox of a Christ-like being, fully human and fully God simultaneously.

Mr. Green bowed and introduced himself then opened his hand. An image appeared in the form of a holographic CCS Battlecruiser, the very same one they had just discovered and subsequently abandoned.

"The cruiser that we left behind a short while ago was called the Heart of Sacrifice. It was part of a fleet that discovered the colony of Estuary earlier this year."

The image enlarged to show dozens of similar ships arriving out of slipspace near the simulated planet. They moved to engage the UNSC vessels defending it.

Green's tone turned somber. "Long story short, we lost."

The image fast forwarded. Garrison saw time after time where UNSC ships were destroyed by plasma torpedoes while their Covenant equivalents suffered far less casualties to MAC rounds. Once the action in space was over, the Covenant fleet descended upon the human world. They moved like sharks prowling through water, knowing their prey below were unable to escape. Garrison couldn't help narrowing his eyes as their energy projectors fired, bathing the surface below with columns of superheated plasma. It was never easy to watch a glassing, even a recording of one. That was one aspect of this war that even years of fighting in it could never desensitize him enough to ignore, and it likely never would. Millions lost in a moment. Ash where there were once persons, whole families who were guilty only of the mortal sin that was their very existence. Nothing more.

Garrison's hands slowly clenched into fists. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes." Green said. "I showed you the glassing of Estuary in order to drive my point home."

He took his glasses off and wiped them with a handkerchief. "You see, the Covenant have had the advantage over us from the very beginning. On the ground, we stand a chance. But in space…" He shook his head and put his glasses back on, fixing them on the bridge of his nose as he stared at the recording. "Their technology is far superior to our own. They are centuries ahead of our own developments, if not entire millennia. We needed to gather information on them, to learn how their ships functioned, how their plasma weapons and shielding worked and how they can travel through slipspace in a fraction of the time it takes the average UNSC frigate. The Office of Naval Intelligence gathered data through years of diligent work. Then, four years ago they created what was the culmination of their research."

Garrison folded his arms across his chest. "And what might that be if you don't mind me asking?"

A humble smile rose on Green's face. "Me."

Garrison's brow furrowed. He glanced at Cordova who leaned in to explain. "The Office compiled data from encounters with Covenant tech inclusive of stolen vehicles and hardware, even from operations undertaken by certain elements within the Navy's special forces branches. We created Mr. Green as the first of his kind: An Offensive Software-based AI. He's programed with the information and incursion suites capable of not only engaging with and taking over human technology, but also Covenant."

"A Hybrid?" Garrison commented. "You made a hybrid Human-Covenant AI using tech from both sides?"

"Along those lines, yes, although it's a major oversimplification. He's the brainchild of nearly two decades of desperation and intelligence gathering operations."

"I am no child." Green protested. "I'm four years old I'll have you know. That's roughly middle age in comparison to flesh and blood people."

"Why were you on that ship?" Garrison asked, cutting through the humor and getting straight to the point.

Mr. Green seemed to taste his next thoughts in his mouth, pondering whether it was okay to explain what he had on his mind or not. He turned to Cordova who gave him a confirmatory nod.

"A mission." Mr. Green said. "After multiple simulation-runs of my capabilities, I was sent to Estuary. My purpose was to be captured by the Covenant and brought onto one of their ships to be inspected and searched for any useful information."

Garrison cocked his head. "Are you saying you knew Estuary was going to fall well in advance?"

"It was more like a farsighted prediction than set-in-stone revelation."

"A pretty accurate one at that." Garrison muttered. "Go on."

"Once I was brought onboard, I would attempt to convince the Huragok, the Covenant's engineering caste who would undoubtedly be used to hack me, to instead help connect me to the ship. While they're rarely seen by frontline personnel, we were able to learn about these creatures through secret observations. They have an all-consuming proclivity towards fixing and investigating machines. I used this against them by convincing a few that I had friendly intentions and that if they connected me to the ship, then I would betray my masters and freely grant them access to all the information I knew. They believed my friendly intentions. In truth, I had none."

The image of Estuary's glassing zoomed in to focus on the Heart of Sacrifice as it turned away and headed towards open space. "Once I was connected, I cut off oxygen throughout the ship to kill the crew. Then I took control and jumped to slipspace. The original plan was for me to check the cruiser for any tracking devices in abidance with Subsection 7, Article 1 of the Cole Protocol before taking it wholesale into UNSC space. From there I would send out a specially encrypted signal to Reach warning them I was coming. But…as Moltke taught us…no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy."

The image in his hand changed, showing the Heart of Sacrifice emerging from an abruptly ended slipspace jump. "A Team of Spec Ops Elites who survived managed to manually disconnect me from the slipspace drive. As a result, the Sacrifice hurdled out into real space. I saw it coming beforehand, however, and corrected our course so that I could reach some destination. I figured anything was better than floating aimlessly through interstellar space. I chose New Bara since it was the closest and was also an abandoned system."

The Heart of Sacrifice shuddered as its shields dissipated. It hurdled into the atmosphere of Osiris-7 while explosive decompressions rocked the hull. "To put it plainly, there's a reason why ships don't just fall out of slipspace. Avionic integrity is one of them."

The Sacrifice crashed onto the surface. "It was a hard landing but I made it work. The crew mostly got out then I sealed the doors shut behind them. They squatted outside the whole time. Meanwhile, I learned what I could from interfacing with the Sacrifice' systems. When I thought I'd figured it out, I set off the ship's SOS signal but purposefully in a way that targeted the Epsilon Eridani system and several others."

Mr. Green smiled up at them. "Then, about two months after the crash, the ship we're currently aboard arrived in system. You already know the rest of the story."

Garrison nodded. "So, what exactly did you learn? I know you're ONI so you can't divulge everything, but I'd like to know what I can tell my boys and girls to let them feel that this whole trip was worth it."

"We gained necessary information on how to fly a Covenant ship." Green said. "Before this, we never knew. Even my own piloting of the Sacrifice at first was mostly the result of the situational guesswork involved in my programming. Whenever we had other Covenant ships cornered, they would either fight to the death or self-destruct or commence the latter to achieve the former. Now we know exactly how their systems operate and how to infiltrate them as well as some of their design weaknesses. That opens up a whole new avenue of opportunities for us to turn the tides of this war in humanity's favor. Tell that to your troopers, Lieutenant Colonel. I only hope it can somewhat suffice for those you've lost on my account."

Garrison stared Mr. Green in the eyes for a few seconds before closing his own. He took in a slow breath then breathed out. "Alright. That's something, I guess. The more you know the better, am I right?"

Green nodded in agreement.

"Will that be all, sir?" Cordova asked.

"Yeah, that's good enough for me." Garrison got up, looked at Green one last time and asked. "Of all the people you could've chosen for an avatar, why Roosevelt?"

Mr. Green pursed his lips in thought. "Because despite all his flaws, both physically and personally, he was a man who was able to pull a nation together to fight against a tyrannical enemy seeking the annihilation of others. I'd hoped that that sentiment would still prove pertinent even today."

Garrison hadn't been expecting the deep dive on the AI's philosophical side. But he didn't mind it either. In truth, with his new understanding, he found Green's appearance of a friendly old man in a wheelchair almost endearing.

"I see." He replied. "Thank you, both of you." Garrison nodded to them both then walked out, closing the door behind him.

:********:

The moment the Lieutenant Colonel was gone and the doors sealed shut, Cordova breathed out a sigh of relief. "I hope we haven't divulged too much."

Mr. Green turned to her with sympathy in his eyes. "You cared to give the man peace of mind regarding the sacrifices of his troops. That's a good thing." His brow furrowed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "If only we could have that same peace. But we know too much while we told him just enough. The only downside to learning is that you can never unlearn the less savory side of knowledge."

"You're referring to our debriefing before he arrived?" Cordova asked.

Green nodded. "I'm still…concerned…and reasonably so, about what I found while I had access to the Covenant BattleNet, even if it was only briefly."

"We'll have to work on that once we get back to Reach."

"But my findings won't wait until we get back." The AI pointed out. "What I found lurking in the 51 Pegasi System poses a serious and pressing threat to the UNSC and humanity in its totality. To express myself more clearly, if I could be in front of HIGHCOM's Security Committee right now with the information I have, even at the cost of my remaining lifespan, I would take it without either question or hesitation."

Cordova ran her hands through her hair in an attempt to quell her own frustrations. "I understand that. However, there is no such means of teleportation available so you'll have to settle with our current speed. I'm not downplaying the magnitude of what you've found. You've done groundbreaking work. We just need to concern ourselves with practicality here."

"Really?" Green huffed. "And what's so practical about sending several platoons of Marines to their deaths in an effort to convince the Covenant that you're worth something?"

"We had to." Cordova said. "It was necessary."

"Tell that to Major Bentham and his boys. Oh wait, you can't. We knew it would be a one in a million chance that their deaths would be made worth the loss. The only redeeming thing about this is that we actually got some useful info out of it for Red Flag."

Cordova winced. "Security Code-131-"

"I know already." Green cut in, holding up his hands defensively. "I'm not allowed to divulge that information without the necessary clearance to do so. You don't have to shut off my memory pathways for me to get the point."

Cordova relaxed a little. "Be careful. We don't need any information leaks. We don't even want to risk something that high on the food-chain being divulged in a space like this."

Green scowled. "What, do I have to travel all the way to Sydney just to get this off my chest? I'll say this much, at the rate of things, I doubt CINCONI will be willing to commence the operation until the situation grows more dire. I personally believe it should be done while there are still inner colonies left. This entire mission was to setup the groundwork for the operation after all."

"That decision ultimately lies in HIGHCOM's hands Green, you know that."

"Yes." Green groaned. "Although I'm certain that Agent Tarkovsky would be able to plead my case in a way that would galvanize them into action."

He noticed Cordova shift uncomfortably at the mention of the name. "I'd rather someone like him not get involved in this."

"Why don't you say that to his face the next time you see him?" Green suggested, knowing he was hitting a nerve. She gave him a long glare that made him move on from the subject.

"At the end of the day, my only wish is that I would live long enough to see my work be of use. But I guess whatever future AI inherits my piloting suite will have to get the job done in my stead. On a different note, what about operations we do have the clearance to discuss like Red Sahara?"

Cordova thought it over. "The Covenant that came in system are likely glassing New Bara by now, so I'd say it's a success."

Green ran over the details in his heavily filed mind. Neither Cordova nor himself were willing to explain to Garrison that, shortly after their arrival, he had purposefully sent out the Sacrifice's rescue signal into hostile space in order to lead the Covenant to the system.

Operation RED SAHARA was a highly classified ONI operation. Its purpose; to drip-feed the Covenant the locations of abandoned colony worlds primarily in the outer colonies. They allowed them to capture nav-data mostly wiped except for the location of the specifically abandoned world.

The operation had been approved by the higherups of ONI for Section II in 2537 as a means of taking advantage of the Covenant's zealous nature. Knowing that they would burn any planet with a human presence or even a former human presence, they had been making the aliens waste time and resources for the last seven years. In doing so they were also saving resources for the UNSC to defend inhabited worlds.

New Bara was the most recent addition of worlds fed to the Covenant.

"It's less a success and more a delaying of failure." Green said. "Its all defensive, to buy time. But we have to go on the offensive eventually." He leaned towards Cordova. "Red Flag must be enacted soon, or not at all, for the sake of what we've lost to get this far and what we stand to lose further on."

"Would you like me to send your recommendations directly to CINCONI?" Cordova asked, raising a sarcastic brow at him.

Green smirked up at her. "Nice try, I'm not going to be called rampant and get terminated before my time. Good thing I saw through your threat."

"It's not a threat." Cordova assured. "Only a possibility of an opportunity."

"No, not a possibility of opportunity." Green said. He generated his martini cocktail and slowly drank down its liquid contents. When he was done, he looked at the empty glass and sighed. "It's more like an inevitability of desperation."

Intelligentia - Intelligence


	19. Heart of Sacrifice - Chapter 4 (Sepultus)

Chapter 4 - Sepultus

August 3rd, 2544 (7:45 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Falchion Base, Csaba Mountain Region, Viery Territory

:********:

The UNSC flag in front of the Coronary flew at half-mast in the early dawn. It was in honor of the fallen, not only Bravo Company's, but also for Alpha Company who had similarly returned from a successful mission, although with a few dozen less within their ranks.

While most of their comrades' bodies were being returned to their homeworlds, if they had any to be spoken of, those that didn't were buried at a small gravesite at the base of Mount Csaba. It was an octagonal space a hundred meters in diameter surrounded by a wire fence. Scores of graves from 7th Battalion ODST's casualties taken over the years occupied the grounds. Their names, ranks, unit affiliation, time of birth and death were listed on their gravestones. Moreover, so were their places of both birth and death.

Thanks to the small memorial service being held early in the morning, Duncan had gotten to see a number of the graves. It was his first time being down here. He'd been told that if you got buried here, if there was a body to be spoken of at all, then chances were high that you were sent here because there was nowhere else to put you. He noticed that the vast majority of the dead were born on worlds that had either gone dark, like the distant Dwarka, or were confirmed glassed like Charybdis IX. It explained what Zack meant when he said that you only wound up here if there was nowhere else left to put you.

Duncan also noticed that the locations where troopers died were almost predominantly UNSC Defeats. There were few if any big victories anymore. He was hoping to see at least some, but there weren't any that he could recognize going through the rows of stones.

Then he realized that in truth, the fact there were even graves for these troopers was a victory in and of itself. Most UNSC personnel who fought against the Covenant and lost never had their bodies recovered. Yet even the deaths of these troopers attested to how good the ODSTs of 7th Battalion were in that they were actually able to recover their dead and give them a proper burial.

Then it made him consider something, a distinct possibility. His father had never had his body brought home. But perhaps…

He wasn't here. Despite his searching, he never found a stone marked with the name 'Noah Iris'. It was only a chance, he knew. Still, he wished he were here. The six-year-old deep down inside of him had hoped, if briefly, to see his dad again, even if it meant looking at a cold slab of stone in the place of a warm face.

The ceremony was simple yet respectful. A few squads offloaded the caskets from a convoy of Warthog transports. Platoons from Alpha and Bravo Companies looked on as they were carried while the slow notes of a bugle player gave a somber atmosphere to the occasion.

2nd Platoon had lost two of their guys, including one Corporal Rodrick Henderson, callsign Hotep-3. They recovered him after finding the sniper dead on top of the cruiser. He'd been impaled with an energy sword from behind. 1st Platoon also had its casualties. Lance Corporal Leona Harris and Private First-Class Thomas Boffa, Echo-4 and Eagle-7 respectively, had both gone down early in the initial fighting outside the ship.

Henderson, Harris and Boffa were among 27 others being buried today. Their squadmates stood the closest to their caskets. They watched them lowered inside, some with tears and others with quiet respect. No one ever cried outright, only looked on as their comrades were laid to rest. Each casket was placed inside their graves in such a way that the part where the dead's feet would be would touch the bottom first. Then they were rested down inside and buried.

"Once a Helljumper, always a Helljumper." The Staff had said when Duncan asked him about it. "It's a tradition that not everyone we lose gets to have done for them."

Duncan was quietly relieved that no one from his team had gone out. Epsilon had been lucky to reach cover in time during the ambush inside the ship. On the way back, the Staff had praised Duncan for pulling off a tactic that he'd used months earlier, throwing his frag grenades tactfully to use the Elites' limber maneuverability against them. Yet Duncan honestly felt the way they handled everything afterwards, especially Hector with his SPANKR, outshined anything he had done on the fly. He sufficed with the fact that he'd survived his first encounter with the Covenant alongside the rest of the team. However, that didn't stop him from acknowledging the loss of others. They stood at attention until the ceremony neared its end.

The Lieutenant Colonel concluded the occasion with a short address. It started with a single sentence. "Helljumper Helljumper, where you been?"

The ODSTs responded in unison. "Feet First into Hell and back again!"

He asked again. "Helljumper Helljumper, where you been?"

"Been out for a jump we'll jump again!"

Garrison nodded. "Helljumper, Helljumper, where you been?" He said it slower this time, almost pondering the question as he turned to the graves. "We know where they are, and we know where we'll be, sticking our rifle muzzles into the collective eye sockets of the Covenant for one more day. We only get one, troopers. Make it count."

The ODSTs of Alpha and Bravo Companies gave their leader a unified salute. Then it was over. A few stayed behind to pay their own final respects.

Eventually the 7th Battalion gravesite was left to itself. The wind travelling through the valley floor made the surrounding trees sway, casting dancing shadows over the faces of the gravestones, new and old alike.

:********:

1st platoon came back to the Dante building for some R&R. While everyone else went about their own devices, Duncan used the time to catch a shower in the communal bathrooms since he'd had to rush out to catch the funeral.

He rested his spare set of clothes on a rack and took one of the empty shower stalls. He twisted the nob into the red and let the warm water wash over his body.

It was soothing. His thoughts lulled in his mind as he relaxed. He thought about the gravestones and what was written on them. What caught his attention was where they were from.

His mind drifted to the rest of his squad, the very same persons he'd been fighting beside while never knowing a certain aspect about them. Specifically, where they came from. It was an unstated rule among UNSC enlisted personnel in every branch that you didn't ask a person where they were from. The reason for it was because ever since Harvest, more and more persons began hailing from colony worlds lost to the Covenant. For obvious reasons, a lot of people were private about that kind of information. Still, he'd known the others in the squad for more than half a year already. While they obviously knew each other for a lot longer, eight months had to count for something.

His thoughts were interrupted when the door to the men's section of the bathroom opened. Zack stepped in, already half-naked. Thankfully, it was the top-half.

He gave him a thumbs-up and got started in one of the showers further down.

Duncan thought it over and mentally shrugged. He might as well try it now.

"Hey Zack, where're you from?"

"Luna." Zack replied without even looking up or sounding like the question was a problem.

That was easy.

"So…what part?"

This time Zack looked up at him while lathering himself with soap. "Why do you care so much, Illinois-boy?"

Duncan laughed. "Well, I figured I'd known you guys long enough to ask. I only really know where Heck is from and even then, he only drove the limo on Tribute. Doesn't mean he's from there necessarily."

Zack eyed him for a moment then shook his head. "I guess you've lasted longer than the other 8s." He rung out his towel and started washing off. "I'm from Crisium City. If you want to know exactly where that is, we're based in Mare Crisium. Its five hundred kilometers of nothing but flat moonscape, interconnective ducts and vacuum sealed habitats. Home sweet home."

"Really, so you and me are from the same neighborhood then?"

"Give or take 380,000 kilometers, yeah, pretty much."

"Hmph, that's just spitting distance these days." Duncan also started washing off. He thought over his next words carefully, measuring them out and hoping he wasn't prodding too much. "Do you ever miss it, being back home?

Zack stopped for a moment and looked down at the shower floor. "Honestly…no." He dried his face then wrung his towel again, watching the water drain away. "I couldn't have gotten out of there fast enough. My folks? They told me I wasn't ready, that I was too young for the real world." He slung his towel over his shoulder. "Now I'm jumping down through the atmosphere of real worlds. Top that, am I right?"

He stepped out of his stall to catch the rest of himself with his drying towel. "Can I tell you something, Irish?"

There was that name again. Duncan figured it was okay once he was the only one consistently calling him that. "Sure."

Zack looked from left to right to make sure the bathroom was clear and the door was still closed. "I know this might surprise you, but as it turns out, I come across as annoying to some people."

Duncan stared at him with enough incredulousness in his gaze that it would've gotten the point across to anyone else. But whatever mental armor Zack was wearing proved invulnerable.

"I know right." He shrugged. "I can't understand it either. With my folks at least, I figured they probably wanted me out of their hair. I was what people called a 'troubled child', even though I was the one causing trouble for everyone else. As it turned out, I wanted to go just as much as they wanted me gone. Everybody wins that way. But what about your folks, man…I mean, if you've…"

Duncan nodded. "I've got an Uncle. He's a bit of a pain when he's ready but he knows how to push me out of my comfort zone. He always means well, he really does." He remembered their conversation on that Warthog after his mother's funeral. "Maybe your folks didn't want you gone, man. Maybe you just…figured it'd be easier to leave if you believed they wanted that."

He looked up at Zack who was staring back at him with a suspicious eye. He relaxed as he started putting on his clothes. "Maybe you're right man." He sighed. "I wouldn't worry about it too much though. I'm on good terms with them since we still talk. They feel okay once they see my face at least once a week. I swear I feel like a college-kid in a dorm room, only I've got a gun in one hand and a solid reason to be here."

"Ever been to College?" Duncan asked.

Zack shook his head as he pulled his shirt on. "Nah. Once I graduated high school, and really I shouldn't have but they just wanted me gone bad enough, I joined the ODSTs. You?"

"My wife did, I just went straight off to the Marine Reserves. Wait, question, you didn't join any other unit before the ODSTs? No Marines, Air Force or…anything?"

"Nope." Zack said frankly.

Duncan stared at him for a second. It was normal, if not customary for ODST cadets to come from other branches of the armed service so they had experience well in advance to build off of. While they allowed in cadets that didn't fall under that criteria, managing to pass the program with no previous training was almost unheard of. So, if Zack was a troublemaker, Duncan wondered what kind of trouble he might've actually caused.

"Okay…and why'd you join up exactly? Were you looking for an adventure or something like that?"

"Something like that." Zack affirmed. "The way I've figured it, I've got some years ahead of me. Look, I know I'm still a kid, alright? I thought that I might as well help fight so that I can actually live out the rest of my life. If I don't fight, I die anyway. So I might as well have some fun with it. I've got better chances in a burning pod than I do as a colonist on some world caught off guard by a Covenant fleet, am I wrong?"

Duncan remembered what his Uncle had told him on that day, more than a year ago. "No. But a Shock Trooper could amount to something, at least more than a charred body could that didn't try to do anything more than the bare minimum."

"No." He replied. "You're right. You're probably making more sense than people twice your age."

"I try, but no one likes listening to my wisdom."

Zack finished putting on the last of his clothes and made for the doors.

"Hey Zack?"

He stopped with his hand on the door handle. "Yah?"

"What if your folks didn't want you gone? If they wanted you to stay, would it have made a difference?"

Zack thought it over and turned back to him. "Nah."

Duncan nodded and let him leave. He was honestly surprised by the result of their little talk. Despite his regular demeanor, Zack actually seemed a decent deal more mature than he normally let on. And to an extent, he almost reminded him of himself.

It was a good start. He wanted to ask the others next so he finished up in the shower, got dressed and went back out onto 1st platoon's floor. He went over to Epsilon's bunks.

Nova was lying down on her top bunk reading a magazine about the latest model of SUV's from AMG Transport Dynamics. Rico was on his own top bunk adjacent to hers. He was finagling with a set of several firecrackers. Deaks sat at a chair in front of his bunk with multiple sets of teeth laid out across it. He used a handheld drill to put holes through them. Notably the Staff, Hector, Yuri and Zack were missing.

Since Rico was closer, he decided to try him out first. He didn't care for small talk after his conversation with Zack so he went straight for the jugular.

"Hey Rico, where're you from?"

Rico shrugged, still focused on examining the blasting caps of the firecrackers in his hands. "I'm from No Es Asunto Tuyo in the 23 No Voy a Decirte System."

"…Uumm, I-, I don't…"

"He's messing with you, Duncan." Nova said drily as she turned the page in her magazine. "I wouldn't pry any further on that front either if I were you."

"Got it." Duncan exhaled and went on his way. He stopped at Deaks. "Hey corporal, I know I never asked but where're you from man?"

Deaks didn't seem to even hear the question at first despite that his pen-sized drill wasn't loud enough to drown him out. He asked again. The sniper appeared to hear him that time and turned to face him.

"How much?" He asked.

"How much what?"

"Are you willing to pay?"

Duncan was dumbfounded. "I don't think I need to bribe you with credits, it's just a question."

"No, not your money." Deaks gave an uncomfortably toothy grin and pointed at his incisors with his drill. "Well?"

Duncan shivered. "Ugh, I'm…hey Nova." He walked over to her bunk, leaving the sniper to return to his work.

"Hungary, Earth, Sol System." Nova said in quick succession, not even giving him the chance to ask the question. "And that's all you'll get out of me so move along. I want to finish this article before Hector gets back."

"What, you borrowed it from him?"

Nova gave him a sidelong glance that made him realize 'borrowed' wasn't the right word for it.

"So, where's s everyone else anyway?'

Nova reluctantly pried her attention away from the juicy article about the newest line of AMG's popular Überchassis to face him. "The Captain ordered the Staff to help with the tour of the base for the newest batch of recent graduates coming to join the 7th. Yuri and Heck went with him. Zack said he was going to the cafeteria for some lunch. Is that good enough for you?"

"I guess." Then Duncan thought about the newly incoming group of troopers. There'd been a new batch sent to the 7th almost every month. It gave off the impression that they had infinite manpower. Then he remembered it was really to replace the near equal number of casualties that Bravo and other Companies were taking on the regular. The thought made him remember his conversation with Zack, specifically, that he'd lasted longer than the 'other 8s'.

"Um, one last thing?"

Nova sighed. "What?"

Duncan nervously scratched the back of his head. "Who came before me?"

Nova arched a confused brow at him. "What?"

"I talked with Zack earlier. He told me that there were other Ep-8s. I don't think you guys ever told me about them."

Nova swallowed and glanced at the others. Having overheard them, Rico stopped messing with the fireworks and returned an uneasy look. The whine from Deaks' drill filled the void of silence. He kept his back to them, focused on his work.

Rico put his hand to his forehead and sighed. "Why Zack, why?"

"What's wrong?" Duncan asked, looking between them.

Nova put her magazine aside, gazing at him with sympathy. "Just listen, Duncan. We had good reasons for not telling you, alright?"

"They're all dead." Deaks cut in. "Every last one of'em."

Duncan winced. "Huh?"

"Deaks, would you shut up for just two seconds." Nova hissed at him through gritted teeth.

Deaks went quiet then said. "That's two."

Nova huffed in irritation then exhaled to calm herself. She turned to face Duncan from her bunk. "We had…a few Ep-8s…before you."

"Five." Deaks cut in again.

Nova took the magazine and tossed it at Deaks. Without looking back, he shifted his head to the side just in time, allowing it to slam harmlessly against the window and fall to the floor. "Missed again."

Nova's hands clenched into fists. She forced herself to calm down. "Yes, we had five."

Duncan felt something heavy settle in his chest. "Five?"

His redheaded comrade gave a tentative nod in reply.

"Well…what were their names?"

"They were all privates. There was Markham. Then we had Bartley, Rosario, Benson and right before you, LaGrange."

"LaGrange the Strange, huh?" Deaks laughed. "I remember that guy. He was a Frenchy. He had the balls to make a bet with me with his molars. He actually won it too so I had to pay him 50 cred."

"Wait, wait, so how did these guys…go out?" Duncan asked.

Nova was too uncertain to speak so Deaks spoke up for her. "Markham got killed by an Elite. Here's a life lesson D, never take more than one needler round to the face. What comes next would make Picasso proud. Then there was Bartley. We're actually not certain about him. A Grunt shot a Fuel Rod Cannon at where we'd last seen him standing. We never really found enough of him to say what happened for sure."

"Deaks…" Nova said with threatening patience. He continued unabated.

"Rosario's pod ran into an asteroid. Benson, that idiot, tried charging at an Elite that had an energy sword." Deaks traced his hand down from the top of his head past his groin.

Rico shook his head and hugged himself a little at the memory. "I never knew you could get cut like that bro, seriously, I didn't. I still hope he didn't feel it."

"It was fast so I doubt he did."

"Deaks…" Nova began to growl.

"As for LaGrange." Deaks said regardless. "He ended up getting shot by New Alexandria Police. He went MIA for a few weeks then resurfaced on a police report. Turns out he went berserk and started beating up random people in the Magas Társaság Shopping Center. He refused to stand down when the police came and even started attacking them too, so they…put him down."

"Deaks." Nova hissed.

"What a Mad Lad."

"Deaks!"

The corporal finally turned around. He hadn't noticed that throughout the conversation, Duncan had started going pale. He was practically snow-white by the time he'd finally seen him. Deaks grinned and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Sorry."

Nova glared at him until she found the willingness to look at Duncan. He looked shaken. In truth, he was. Now he knew that he was standing in the blood-soaked shoes of several others. He dared ask the question. "H-how, how long did they last?"

He hadn't thought it possible for Deaks' grin to widen, but it did. "Markham, two months. Bartley, two weeks. Rosario, three weeks. Benson, heh, about three seconds. LaGrange, three months." He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at Duncan. "Iris…" He stressed the 's' like a snake. "Well, we're still waiting on that one. And so help me God, I'm getting my money's worth."

Duncan felt his mouth go so dry that he barely had the strength to open it up again. "What're you talking about?"

Nova did a slashing throat gesture at Deaks but he ignored it. "We have a pool, or had one at least till almost everyone wussed out. It's a money pool with bets on how long you'll last. We started it the day after you got here. The Staff doesn't like doing it but Zack, Heck, Matchstick and even" He pointed to Rico. "Mr. Mohawk over there, they all pulled out of the bet."

Duncan looked at the ODSTs then back at Deaks, uneased but curious. "And why's that?"

"'Cause you're a hard-sell, Duncan." Deaks snickered. "You lasted too long. You outdid everyone's predictions so they pulled out of the pool. Thankfully, I saw it coming and highballed how many months I thought it'd take in advance. Now there's only two of us left to win 200 credits. Don't get me wrong D, I don't have anything against you, only the Covies. It's just a question of how long, and I'm still betting on you not making it past the year."

Duncan froze for a heartbeat. He looked at Nova and asked. "You're betting on me too?"

"She changed hers." Deaks sighed, sounding disappointed.

"What do you mean 'changed'?"

Nova was grim. Her face lightened up as she met Duncan's gaze. "I…bet instead that you'd outlast any bet we put on you." From her bunk she rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Was it after you found out about Erica?"

She shook her head. "No. I only really committed to changing it after you survived that encounter with whatever that Walrus thing was on Epsilon Eridani IV. That helmet-cam footage was priceless. The fact you survived it gave me some reassurance."

Nova squeezed his shoulder. "So, don't you go out anytime soon, alright? Because now you know that I've got good money riding on you."

Duncan nodded, then started laughing. He couldn't help it. He'd started out asking them where they were from and ended up finding out there was a bounty placed on his chances of survival. The whole situation was just…odd. They were all kind of odd once he thought about it. They definitely weren't the team he'd been expecting to work with, but they were nonetheless his teammates.

He turned to Deaks. "Just know you're not getting your money's worth." He said with unfounded confidence.

The sniper blinked, unamused. "Sounds like you want to join the pool too. How much weight are you willing to put behind those bold words of yours?"

Before Duncan could answer, the elevator door opened. Zack stepped out with a half-eaten donut in hand. They watched him intently as he floated over to them while nonchalantly finishing up the pastry. It caught him off guard once he finally realized that they were staring at him.

He swallowed the last of the donut and with glaze still covering his cheeks, he asked, "Okay, okay, what'd I miss?"

:********:

"Zack just can't help himself, can he?" Erica asked, shaking her head sympathetically on the other side of the display screen.

In his communication's cubicle, Duncan breathed out. "Nope, but at least I know now. And I also know I'm not about to give Deaks his money's worth."

"You better not." She pressed, jabbing a playful finger at him. "Or so help me I'll come out there after you and bring you back to life myself. You got it?"

Duncan chuckled at the threat. "Sure thing, cap."

Crying distracted Erica for a moment. She moved from the table in their apartment kitchen where her device was situated. She stopped to take a spoonful of the semi-liquid baby food from a container and brought it to Noah who sat crying in his feeding chair. She tried gently leaning the spoon towards his mouth but he batted her hand away, causing the food to spill over his bib. She peeked over her shoulder at Duncan, sighing. "A little help here?"

Duncan nodded. "Just get me in close."

Erica giggled. "Alright, Helljumper." She took the device and brought it to face Noah. Duncan opened his own mouth, saying. "Aaaaah, its like this kiddo, aaaaah."

Noah's tears slowly dried up. He started looking at his Father with awe-like fascination. He gradually opened his mouth and started giving off a low gurgle. Erica seized on the moment and took a picture on her phone with her free hand. She put the device down then took the spoon and slipped it in and out of her son's mouth. Thankfully, he took the food this time.

"Gotcha!" Erica cheered. "Now if he can just keep doing that without me having to call you."

"He'll figure it out."

Erica waited till her five-month-old swallowed before traversing another spoon into his waiting mouth. "So, how's O'Reilly doing?"

"I talked to him earlier today. He's not been able to call too much these days. He's handling himself pretty good though. He's going on missions left, right and center, about twice as much as me." Duncan looked around then cupped a hand to the side of his mouth. "And just between you and me, it looks like he's finally got a girlfriend."

Erica perked up and blinked at the screen. "Really? Who?"

"One of his teammates that he's been dropping off hints to for a while."

"Wait, was it the Bulgarian girl with the hazel eyes or the tall one with the braids from Tribute?"

"The Bulgarian." Duncan answered. "Of course, they've got to stay professional so they're keeping it on the downlow. Looks like they're really into each other too."

Erica folded her arms over her chest and put a contemplative finger to her lip with a scrutinizing gaze. "Uhuh, and how many times has she tried to kill him?"

"Surprisingly, none." Duncan laughed. "Remember, the tall one threatened to knife him in his sleep after he tried making a move. At least the other one was okay with finding a flower in her bunk."

Erica breathed out in relief. "That's good. He's making progress with the type of women he attracts. I'm proud of him. Tell him I can't wait to see him here in Chicago one day."

"I'll make sure to pass on the message." Duncan said.

"Oh, and what about Cosmo? Have you heard from him recently?"

"Nah, I was going to call him afterwards though to check-in."

Noah started crying again. Despite Erica's best attempts to placate him with another spoonful of mushy baby food, he wasn't taking the bait. She sniffed his pampers and figured out what the real problem was. "Okay, looks like the jigs up. I'll have to call you back later."

"A mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do."

"At least until kindergarten." Erica said. They laughed a little.

Duncan waved. "I'll catch you later, mommy."

Erica took Noah's flailing hand and waved back with it. "You too, daddy."

With a satisfied smirk, Duncan ended the call. He had to admit, Noah was growing up pretty fast. Sure, he was still a five-month-old. Even so, he looked like he was getting bigger. Maybe it was the fact he only got to see him every so often that made it easier for him to notice the change. He figured that soon his son would be walking on his own two feet and going out to make a life of his own. He hoped he made it that far to see it for himself.

Duncan switched to Cosmo's number. Stanton's was already gone. He'd deleted it some time ago since the man linked to it was gone as well. It was hard. He skipped over the missing spot and pressed Cosmo's contact.

After a few seconds, the call went through. But it wasn't Cosmo that picked up. The image showed a slightly older man wearing an ODST T-shirt and standing in front of an open locker. He had a fist-sized burn mark on the left side of his face that appeared recent. He looked confused at seeing Duncan.

"Um, he-, hello?"

"Ugh, hey." The trooper answered. "…I guess you're a…friend of Cosmo's?"

Duncan felt something shrivel inside of himself. He slowly nodded.

The older ODST's face melted to one of deep sympathy. He looked at the locker then back at him. "I guess he left this thing in here before we last went out."

"Last, sir?"

"Oh, I'm no sir, I'm just a Private Second-Class. The name's Donavan. I was on the same squad as Cosmo."

Duncan knew he'd heard the name brought up before during some of his calls with Cosmo when he referenced his squadmates. "I'm sorry, you…'were' on the same squad?"

Donavan breathed out deeply. "Cosmo's gone. He died on our last mission two weeks ago. He was trying to drag a wounded member of his squad to safety when a Jackal sniper spotted him. We were able to send his body home…it was the least we could do."

Duncan felt the heaviness again. It settled on his head and worked its way down his body until he couldn't move. He felt paralyzed, glued to the chair he was sitting in.

He forced feeling back into his mouth, willing himself to speak. "Who, who did he, um…" He fought to gather his thoughts. "Did the guy he was trying to save make it out of there?"

Donavan nodded and looked like he was about to confess to an undesirable truth. "It was me, actually. He'd barely been with us for half a year. He was a cowboy that didn't know the ropes but still took them head-on as if he did. I told him to leave me behind back there. But if he hadn't been so hardheaded, he'd be the one here right now, not me…I'm sorry."

"No, it's a good thing you're alive." Duncan said. "It means what he did wasn't in vain, it was worth something. And…I know he wouldn't mind that." He felt like he was trying to assure himself of that more so than Donavan.

"Thanks." Donavan said, sending him a two-fingered salute. "Take care of yourself, um-"

"Iris. Private Duncan Iris."

"Keep on keeping on for him, Iris. You and me both."

Duncan returned the salute. "Will do."

Donavan ended the call, leaving Duncan to stare at the contact and the face of his dead friend on the profile picture. His hand shook as he hovered his finger over it.

In his mind, the image of his picture together with the rest of Charlie Team on Nassau Station had already burned to the point that Stanton was gone. This time it burned a bit more to the left, taking Cosmo next and blackening the image even more. Now him and O'Reilly were all that remained on it.

He forced himself to hold down the contact then, with a shaking finger, pressed delete.

Sepultus - Buried


	20. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 1 (Praesidium)

Chapter 1 - Praesidium

September 1st, 2544 (14:56 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Aboard the UNSC Churchill

:********:

Duncan had trouble recalling the exact details of his rushed briefing on Reach after they had all been herded onto the Heavy Cruiser UNSC Churchill. He only remembered a brief summary. The Covenant were laying siege to the inner-colony world of Miridem, and the entire 7th Battalion was now attached to one of several Naval Task Forces being sent to the system as a quick reaction force.

While the Navy reinforcements contended with the Covenant in space, the ODSTs would be deployed to the planet to assist in evacuation efforts across the territories.

Now the ODSTs were already in their drop bays awaiting deployment. Shortly after their arrival in-system, the four Heavy Cruisers, each ferrying one of the sister companies of the 7th, split away towards their individual targets. Alpha and Bravo Companies were bound for the eastern hemisphere while Companies Delta and Echo were headed for the heated west.

Bravo was tasked with assisting UNSC evacuation efforts taking place on the continent of Vitre in the Matin Province. Their target was the Provincial capital of New Memphis. From what reports they had received on their way here, the city and the rest of the eastern hemisphere had been relatively spared since the west was taking the brunt of Covenant attention. But that intel was three days old and there was no telling how incorrect it was now.

"Let's go ladies and gentlemen." Garrison said over comms. "I want eyes and ears open. We'll find out the situation groundside and assist how we can. If you see anything walking on two legs that isn't human, you know what to do."

The doors to the drop bay opened, revealing the turquoise atmosphere of Miridem. It was a 200 kilometer drop to the surface that they had to cover in 5 minutes. On the Lieutenant Colonel's order, the pods shot out of the Churchill and rocketed through the outer layer of the exosphere in a fine spray.

Duncan watched the cruiser fall away through his viewport. The jarring departure was quick and the numbing sensation in his stomach that always ensued from the drop made him slightly giddy. It wasn't so bad. He'd realized that he had gotten used to the feeling of falling through an atmosphere at the speed of an ICBM. It was an experience that few ever encountered, let alone got used to.

He saw distant flashes of light in the space above the western hemisphere. The silvery tracers of MAC Rounds impacted glimmering shields and the blueish purple comets of plasma torpedoes headed for UNSC frigates. Explosions went off on both sides as the invading Covenant fleet engaged the 12th and 15th UNSC Expeditionary fleets. The latter were being joined by the QRF sent from the Epsilon Eridani Defensive Fleet after holding out for the better part of several days.

While Helljumpers, Marines and Army Troopers got to work on the ground, a planet's ultimate fate depended on whoever held control of space. In that regard, the Navy was the most critical factor in this fight. As far as Duncan could tell, they were losing. He spotted the dead husks of scores of human ships and even less Covenant wrecks. The ratio of losing three human ships for every one of theirs always held true. But at the very least they had succeeded in containing the Covenant's advance to the west. He only hoped that reinforcements like the Churchill would be enough to flip the dynamics of the battle in their favor. It was critical that they did considering the planet's importance.

Miridem was one of a dozen inner colony worlds that were major strategic nexuses in the economic connections between not only Earth and other inner colonies, but also the outer colonies in the Perseus and Scutum Centaurus Arms of the galaxy. It was among a short list of major inner colonies like Camber, New Carthage, Actium and of course, Reach whose continued operation as financial strongholds and hubs of manufacturing were vital to the UNSC war effort. It represented a massive link in the chain that was humanity's chances for survival. By proxy, its protection was of the upmost priority.

That meant both sides could expect a fierce fight. The thought, for a moment, made Duncan consider taking out the rock from Harvest in his pocket, hoping that holding it would bring him some comfort. He forced himself to focus on maneuvering his HEV.

At two minutes and thirty seconds left to hitting dirt, Garrison had them assemble into a Diamond Formation. It was better than the normal Wedge Formation since it spread them out more, making it easier for them to land in the condensed urban environment. It also gave them more leeway in how fast they reached the ground.

Duncan made sure to steer clear of Yuri as he rocketed through the atmosphere at nearly double the normal reentry speed. The ODST yelped and hooted over comms, hellbent on reaching the ground first. The Staff ignored him, leaving everyone else to watch him go.

Duncan decided to ask at one point how the madman was pulling it off without exploding. He replied with a rudimentary burst of ecstatic Russian. Duncan mentally kicked himself, remembering it was useless to try communicating with him when he was like this.

"Just ignore him." Heck sighed. "He'll stop before he starts cooking."

"He might not look it but he's probably the best HEV pilot we've got in Bravo." Nova noted.

Yuri's comm crackled. "Spasibo za pokhvalu!"

"Oh yeah?" Nova huffed. "Well, don't get used to it."

The ODSTs knew they had entered the Troposphere once they started punching through the stripe-like Cirrus clouds that caked their viewports in a layer of ice crystals. They quickly evaporated from the pods' sheer heat, creating a sizzling noise in the interior.

At 3 kilometers left, they deployed their drag chutes. At 2 kilometers, the drop zone came within sight.

It was noon over the city of New Memphis. However, the way fires raged and large blue explosions detonated across the cityscape gave the impression that it was evening. The more the clouds pulled away, the more they unveiled blocks of towering skyscrapers and other buildings both gridded and honeycombed by girthy streets, wide boulevards and lengthy highways.

The city was expansive at 400 square kilometers. The lands immediately surrounding it were predominantly comprised of terraced grasslands that rippled out from the settlement like a splash of water. The grasslands rose up into encompassing hills covered with denser forestry the further out one went. While a number of highways leading out from New Memphis managed to cut through the hills, the majority of the outskirts were forested areas, although Duncan spotted a few dozen isolated suburbs within the woodlands.

Aircraft zoomed through the airways. Scores of Longsword squadrons broke off to engage their sleeker counterparts in the form of the teardrop-shaped Seraph Fighters. The sky was filled with the snaking exhaust trails of ASGM-10 Missiles and Pulse Lasers with the occasional flash of heavy plasma cannon fire. Longswords torched by plasma plummeted out of the sky with smoking cockpits and Seraphs skewered by missile explosions spiraled down in fiery corkscrews towards the streets. They crashed into buildings and exploded, adding to the growing flames rising up across the city.

At current, Bravo's objective was to reach the western side of New Memphis to link up with the 211th Expeditionary Marines' 1st Battalion at their FOB within the area. To get there, they had to go through the dogfights first.

Duncan prayed under his breath that neither the friendly nor enemy starfighters that zipped past crashed into him. While the Longswords spotted the incoming batch of ODSTs and veered off well in advance, a significant number of Seraphs didn't spare them the same courtesy. Multiple starfighters fired their pulse layers at them, destroying some pods while ploughing through others, outrightly obliterating them. Duncan watched at least 9 HEVs suffer that fate. 1st Platoon was skillful enough, or lucky enough to avoid losing anyone to the Seraphs, prompting a collective sigh of relief over comms.

The city came up fast.

"1-Actual to 1st, we'll link up at the fire-station…there." Captain Harper placed a Navigation Marker on a building below. Duncan was amazed she could pinpoint a specific location when coming in at terminal velocity. He was barely keeping his eyes from rolling into the back of his head because of the speed. He winked his acknowledgement light alongside everyone else.

At 50 meters the braking rockets engaged, giving Duncan the customary kickback effect. He tried to steer away from a corporate building for the split-second he had before reaching the ground. It didn't work. The HEV punched through the top floor, tunneled through several more before emerging clean through the other side. It sent him tumbling into an end-over-end spin, causing the world outside his viewport to cartwheel past. He held his breath and closed his eyes until the ride ended in a teeth-grinding impact. He felt the pod bounce like a basketball, skid a few meters then finally come to a stop.

He opened his eyes again. The interior was virtually dead. Displays showed static-riddled images as sparks flew out from flickering keypads. Everything was virtually offline. Even worse, he was dizzy.

"Why am I so bad at this?" Duncan grunted, pulling out his MA37 Assault Rifle and clipping it to his harness. He found some solace in the fact that the explosive bolts still glowed green. He punched them. There was a beep in response followed by a strained groan of hydraulics then a negative sounding beep after that. He tried again with a similar result.

Then it finally dawned on him that gravity was pulling him forward. No, not forward but downward. He groaned at realizing that the world wasn't oriented wrong. He was. His pod had landed facedown, meaning that a solid slab of asphalt was between him and getting outside.

Thankfully, the sound of someone knocking on the side of his pod spared him the frustration of the situation but amplified his embarrassment at being found like this.

"You okay, rookie?"

The Russian twang of the voice told him who it was.

"Nah, I'm stuck."

"I don't understand why you suck at this so much." Yuri said it less like the insult that it would've sounded like normally and more as an objective view of the problem.

"You and me both."

"Don't worry, I'll give you tips next time we drop. For now, let me help you out before pod becomes coffin."

The irony of Yuri offering him drop-tips wasn't lost on Duncan at all. He heard footsteps walking from the left side of the pod to the right. "Alright, I'll rock pod enough for you to blow hatch. I'll tell you when."

"Got it."

Duncan felt his squadmate push the pod, causing it to sway to the side like a waterborne buoy. Then the sound of a distant explosion caught his ear. It was followed by a high-pitched whine that grew closer and louder with each second.

Yuri's voice turned frantic. "UuuugggGGHHH!"

"What's wrong?"

There was suddenly a final, strong push that revealed a glint of light through his viewport as the pod shifted.

"BLOW BOLTS NOW!"

Duncan quickly punched the explosive bolts. The force of the hatch's ejection launched the pod into the air. As it twisted, he finally caught a glimpse of the street he was on.

Time slowed to a crawl. He saw Yuri leaping towards him to get out of the way of a burning Seraph streaking down the road, headed straight towards them. Yuri hopped into the pod with him, causing them to roll to the side and out of the way.

Time sped back up again.

The Covenant fighter touched down and careened through the street, crushing columns of abandoned vehicles and throwing some into the air. Duncan and Yuri were lucky enough to bounce into an alleyway. Once the pod stopped, they leaped out to watch the destruction taking place.

The Seraph left a long wall of blue flames and burning car wrecks in its wake. Some of the buildings had also caught fire. The two ODSTs warily turned the corner to train their sights on the downed fighter. It lay another 100 meters down the road from them.

Yuri nodded to Duncan. They sidestepped out of the alleyway while keeping their weapon sites trained on the wreck. They advanced towards it, stepping over flaming debris and vaulting over crumpled vehicles.

They covered 95 meters quickly but gave the craft 5 meters of open space. Nothing moved save for the indigo flames that raged across the hull.

"Looks like our Flyboys bagged this one." Yuri declared with pride. He took a step closer and spat at the fighter. He remembered too late that his visor was still on. "Oh."

Duncan shook his head. He remembered the fire station and saw that the NAV marker was another 115 meters further west. "We should get goin-"

A hissing noise made both ODSTs snap their rifles back up. A rectangular opening appeared in the starboard side. It slid apart, allowing the familiar form of an Elite Minor to fall out. It hit the road a few meters below.

Yuri and Duncan carefully split apart and approached it from two separate attack angles. The Elite's fingers twitched. It looked dazed. Then it tried to get back on its feet.

They opened fire, riddling the alien with metal slugs and caking it in its own blue blood. There were no shields to protect it. It groaned under the fire then fell on its back, coughing up more blood.

The Elite, which they assumed to be the Seraph's pilot, lay with arms sprawled out. Its mandibles kept moving, almost like the legs of a dying cockroach. Duncan got closer to discern if it was saying anything. The Covenant were known for declaring adamant curses in English at their enemies before they died.

Sure enough, the Elite turned to Duncan and gave a roar of defiance. He flinched, backed away then saw Yuri stepping forward unabated. The trooper crouched down beside it. He was uncomfortably close, so much so that the Elite could've easily grabbed him if it had the strength. Yet it seemed capable of little else except roaring at Yuri next, and both seemed to know it. The trooper watched it bellow at him for several seconds then suddenly whipped out his pistol and jammed the barrel inside of its open jaws, shutting it up. The creature recoiled a bit, then started trying to bite it in two. Yuri pulled the trigger.

A spray of purple brain matter bathed the tarmac. Duncan watched the Elite's dark eyes close. Its head lowered slowly and gracefully to the ground.

Yuri held up a finger to his visor. "Shhhhhh…that's for almost roasting me and Irish."

He got back up and walked past Duncan.

"Let's go."

Duncan looked down at the Elite a few moments longer. Then he forced himself away from the sight and jogged after Yuri.

:********:

Duncan and Yuri linked up with the rest of 1st platoon without further incident. Then they were on their way down an empty highway with a quietness that was occasionally broken by the sound of distant fighting.

While weaving through the throngs of abandoned cars, Duncan got a chance to admire the beauty of New Memphis. The city had a structural norm that was common among the more prosperous inner colonies. It was a modernized version of Art Deco architecture, a stylistic design that found its initial popularity in the artistic revolutions of the 1900s then experienced a resurgence in the colonies in the late 2400s. The bulk of New Memphis' Skyscrapers, Apartments, Industrial Buildings and Business Offices paid homage to the style with their smooth and sharp walls, stylized chevrons, window strips with decorative spandrels and ornamental panels. There were even a few stained-glass windows depicting historical figures from both Miridem's past as well as Earth's.

If New Alexandria was a city of gems, New Memphis was a city of bronze, silver and gold. Duncan figured it had been the kind of place that, in another life, he would've taken Erica and Noah with him on a vacation to.

1st Platoon made its way across the city. Ahead they could see rain and thunderclouds cresting the skies, headed towards them.

Along the way they ran into 2nd platoon who crossed over to them from an adjacent highway. Then they started running into civilians. A growing tide of men, women and children flowed in the opposite direction in a terror-fueled haste. After another 300 meters spent wading through the masses, they reached their destination.

The Marine FOB that Bravo Company was sent to assist occupied an ovular plaza. Hastily setup oliver tents marked their presence. Around a company's worth of Marines were apparently stationed here. Yet half of them were being tended to on stretchers or occupying black body-bags in long rows. The other half were busy manning sandbag fortifications placed at strategic positions. Still, Duncan saw dozens that perked up at the sight of their arrival, flashing hopeful grins and pointing them out to their comrades nearby.

"Looks like the cavalry's arrived." The Staff said.

"Looks like we're the cavalry." Joels added. "Let's just hope the Covies don't have any."

The rest of Bravo were already stationed around the square on standby. That meant that the Lieutenant Colonel was likely here as well.

"1-Actual to Neptune-Actual, 1st and 2nd platoons are here, over."

"I copy." Garrison replied. "One minute, I'm speaking with the Battalion Commander. We'll be moving out soon."

"Understood sir."

Harper ordered them over to one of the outbranching highways where 4th platoon was waiting. 4-Actual gave them a nod as they strode over and setup a standby position on the curb.

The ODSTs alone were forced to stand against a massive influx of civilians streaming down the highway. The outpouring of humanity was far greater than what they'd encountered earlier. The throngs carried bags or children while flowing past. They flooded around the FOB like a stream around a rock then continued past.

Duncan took a moment to consider the fact that he and nearly 250 others were about to head in the direction that thousands of people were desperate to run away from. He couldn't help laughing a little at the insanity of it. They were shock troopers. Their whole job was to go where no one else dared to in order to accomplish what no one else would deem possible. By extension, insanity was less a hinderance and more an occupational requirement.

Soon he spotted the Lieutenant Colonel wading through the tides of civilians like an armored lifeguard. "Alright Bravo, I'll fill you in on our marching orders on the way. For now, let's get moving."

Garrison used his TAC Map to set a NAV Marker about 700 meters further west. 1st and 4th platoons swiftly followed after him, sticking close to the sidewalks to avoid the onrush of locals.

Garrison made the announcement over Company Comms. "Alright, here's the rundown people. Since the Covenant showed up over Miridem a few days ago they've been sending scouting forces ahead of the main show in the west. After the first assault, they setup pockets of occupation throughout the city. It's giving our fellow Jarheads a hell of a time organizing major evacuation efforts anywhere and the bulk of the locals are getting caught in the crossfire as a result.

However, the Covies have recently started concentrating in the western area. The 211th Expeditionary's got its 1st Battalion trying to hold the bulk of the forces there. They're buying time for the rest of the division to isolate and knockout the pockets of Covenant deeper in the city. As for us, we'll be reinforcing 1st Battalion's Zulu Company. They've been dishing out a beating all night in Sector 6 at Montague Square. If they fall, chances are the defensive line will cave as well. If that happens, we'll lose the entire sector and have to kiss goodbye to any hopes of holding New Memphis. Long story short, let's not keep them waiting."

Duncan put the pieces together to form a solid mental picture of the situation. It was straightforward; they simply needed to hold the line. Yet something told him it wouldn't be that easy. He traced the source of his worries to the soft spray of rain that began to fall on the city despite that the dark rain clouds were still some distance away. He didn't know why, but if felt ominous somehow.

The troopers carried on for another 5 minutes. The other platoons moved along adjacent highways while the 1st and 4th advanced down their own path.

An overarching street-sign came up reading another 100 meters to Montague Square. They were getting close.

More civilians were fleeing through the streets but there were thankfully less of them the closer they got to their objective.

Deaks spotted it first by sighting through the scope of his SRS. "Montague Square, dead ahead."

Duncan used his visor's magnification to spot it over the running masses. It was a circular area with 8 step-like sections that elevated before plateauing around a large fountain. On top of it stood several marble statues. What caught his attention, however, were the walls of sandbags ringing the square. The bulk of the Marines standing behind them were concentrated further west, firing at some incoming targets. The blue and green plasma fire and flashes of pink needler rounds hitting the sandbags gave him a good idea who they were shooting at.

"Looks like Zulu Company's still kicking." Garrison said. "Let's give them a helping hand, people."

The ODSTs had started to move in when Deaks spoke up again, having spotted a different threat coming from above.

"Sir! We got Seraphs, 10 of them incoming!"

Everyone's attention shifted up to the 10 distant dots in the sky that grew closer at an alarming rate. They were flying in low, skimming the tops of buildings.

Garrison figured it out before anyone else. "Bombing run! Troopers fall back and take cover!"

Realizing the gravity of the situation, The ODSTs pivoted on their heels and retreated, dashing back into the shadows of surrounding buildings. 1st Platoon took cover behind the support columns of a nearby apartment complex. Duncan peeked out in time to see the squadron of Seraphs roar over Montague Square. Each one dipped and released a single shining pinpoint of sapphire light that elongated into a lance of fire.

Plasma charges.

The Seraphs pulled away, leaving their charges to hit the ground, explode and expand outward as an immense wall of blue flame that travelled forward at 300 kilometers per hour. He watched the entirety of Montague Square simply disappear beneath the inferno.

It became so bright that his helmet failed to polarize. He dipped back behind cover as the air around him heated to an unbearable degree. One of the charges continued on down their highway, engulfing fleeing civilians and vehicles alike. He hugged the support column to avoid being pulled in by the thermal expansion which subsequently created a secondary suction effect that drew in air from all around. He saw people who'd avoided the initial blast get swept off their feet by an invisible hand and pulled into the flames.

After a few seconds, the artificial hurricane subsided. Once the winds had died down, the ODSTs were out, sifting through burning wreckage to save who they could. The tricky part came from trying to avoid the barrier of fire that divided the highway down its length. Out of dozens of charred bodies, there were few that moved. The wounded that they managed to reach fell silent seconds later.

Duncan felt ready to gag at the familiar smell of burnt flesh wafting through his helmet's filters. He tried ignoring it. But he couldn't ignore the way flecks of ash peeled away from the bodies and went airborne, or the tarmac that was melting beneath his boots.

Garrison ordered them to head for the square, mostly because those who'd fallen victim to the plasma charges died quickly and quietly. They looked like streaks of black statues lying on the ground after being birthed from the demented imaginations of a macabre sculptor.

But the Marines had suffered even worse. Arriving in the square, more of a circle really, they didn't find many Marines. That wasn't because they'd managed to escape. Rather, it was because all they found of them were their carbonized "shadows" etched into the stone. Their imprints showed some standing and crouching behind sandbags whose contents were slowly crystallizing into glass. Others showed rectangular shadows on the ground; whether they were stretchers carrying wounded or body bags containing the dead, no one could tell for sure. All they knew for certain was that Zulu Company had been flash-vaporized before their very eyes.

While 1st platoon navigated through the lanes of flames left by the bombing run, they overheard bursts of gunfire. They circumvented the fountain whose statues had been reduced to bubbling mounds of slag hidden behind a wall of steam.

They found a single Marine firing a heavy machine gun.

Duncan couldn't tell his rank by his shoulder insignia since the entire right side of his body was on fire. He kept shooting in sporadic bursts while shouting like a wild man down at the enemy, ignoring that his gun was so overheated that it faintly glowed. They chanced getting closer and saw that he was tearing through the bodies of four dead Grunts. Beyond them was a highway leading further west. It was filled from side to side with dead Covenant: Elites, Jackals and Grunts galore alluding to long hours of fighting. Even so, the Marine kept shooting them, allowing empty casings to rain down on the ashened remains of several torched comrades lying against the sandbag wall that surrounded his gun.

Harper pointed towards him and clenched her fist twice. The troopers understood and trained their rifles on him, just in case.

The Captain took a few cautious steps towards him. She tried calling him. He didn't seem to hear her. The second time that she did, he stopped firing. They'd started thinking he'd heard her when he suddenly keeled over, his unburnt side landing on the red-hot barrel of the turret. They could hear the hot metal sear his face.

The fire from his body spread to the gun. Harper waved everyone back. They stepped away just as the flames began cooking off the rounds inside. The weapon exploded, shooting out active 51 millimeters that pinged off the cobblestones of Montague Square.

Praesidium – Protection


	21. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 2 (Defensiones)

Chapter 2 - Defensiones

September 1st, 2544 (16:40 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Matin Province, Continent of Vitre

Provincial Capital of New Memphis

:********:

Thunder resounded across the city as the dark rainclouds finally pulled in overhead. The heavy showers spilled down the gutters of buildings and filled the streets below, transforming them into canals through which 10 inches of rainwater streamed through. Because Montague Square was slightly lower than the surrounding area, the water gathered around the lower rings and swept away the layer of ash that had covered it.

Rain dinged off the helmets of Bravo Company ODSTs now manning the square. They'd rebuilt the defenses as best they could afford to under such short notice. Their ranks had been divided up into 3 subsectors meant to handle the 3 main highways that connected to Montague from the west, forming a semicircular defense.

While other platoons were assigned to watch the Southwest and Northwest Highways, the observation of the Western Highway fell to 1st and 4th platoons. The 1st manned a lower ring while the 4th manned a higher one behind them.

Duncan peered over the wall to check on the highway again. Though the rainfall cutdown his range of vision to about 100 meters, he could still spot the bodies of fallen Covenant dominating the space. The lighter Jackals noticeably floated around like boats on stormy seas while the heavier Grunts with their gas tanks and Elites remained anchored like islands within a moving ocean. Otherwise there was no sign of movement.

To his right, Hector used one of the several M41 LAAGs that they'd been able to scavenge from a few disabled Warthogs. He slowly swiveled the gun from side to side, checking for targets. To Duncan's left, Deaks did the same with his sniper. Of course, the latter had the best view out of everyone and would be the first to know if something was on its way. So far, he was quiet, as was everyone else.

"Hey 1-Actual, when do we get shore-leave, cause I'm kind of bummed out just being here?"

Almost everyone.

"1-Actual to Ep-7, in case you haven't noticed, this is our shore-leave. Better enjoy it while it lasts because it ends once the Covies get here."

Zack groaned over comms. Duncan saw him crouching further along the wall between the Staff and Nova, bouncing on his heels. He knew the radiomen wasn't wrong for griping. He could practically feel the frigidness of the rain through his own armor. The only difference was he wasn't willing to complain about it, at least not openly. Neither was anyone else.

"Ep-1s got a point though 1-Actual, this weather sucks."

Almost anyone.

Rico was next on the griping list and he actively glared over the lip of the wall with his M319 Grenade Launcher in hand. He was practically ready to take on a tank on his lonesome and looked tense enough to actually try doing just that. "How are we even supposed to see them coming through all this? The rain's making my visor fog up every time I wipe it."

"The weather's a double-edged sword, Ep-6." Harper answered. "Think of it this way, if we can't see them, they can't see us. The advantage is that we've got the high ground."

"Yeah." Deaks said under his breath. "Zulu Company probably thought the same thing too, for all the good it did them."

"But we're not Zulu." The Staff cut in. "We're Bravo. It'll take a lot more than alien napalm to take us out."

Deaks suddenly tensed, his grip tightening on his rifle. "I hope you're right, Staff, 'cause we've got incoming."

Everyone was back on their feet and peering over the wall, weapons drawn. The troopers of 4th platoon behind them did the same.

"What do you see, Ep-3?" Harper asked.

"We got about 20 Elites, 30 Jackals and…man, at least 100 Grunts, 90 meters out and closing. Looks like a small army. And they're seriously calling these guys a scouting force?"

"It 'is' the Covenant after all. We shouldn't expect any less. ODSTs, focus on your preestablished fields of fire. Remember, keep them from passing the transit shuttle, that's our 20-meter-mark. We don't want close quarters under any circumstance."

"Hey 1-Actual." Zack called in. "I just checked in with Goliath-9 and Viking-4. Looks like they're going to hit us from all three highways at the same time."

"Good." Harper declared. "That means we don't have to play whack-a-mole in trying to figure out which route of attack they'll use."

Hector yanked back the charging handle on his LAAG and let it slide a new round into the chamber with a satisfying clack. Rico's fingers impatiently tapped against his grenade launcher like piano keys. Deaks reshouldered his rifle's stock and eased his stance.

Duncan felt the weight of his frags and kept his attention partly on them and partly on his rifle crosshairs aimed down the misty highway.

The first of the aliens to appear were a line of a dozen scrawny grunts that waddled through the mist, heading for the square.

"Open fire!" Harper ordered.

All at once two platoons of ODSTs brought down the line in a cacophony of different caliber bullets that shot them literally to pieces. Their blue blood filtered through the water less than five seconds later.

"They're falling back." Deaks reported. "Looks like they just wanted to test our strength."

While everyone else was busy reloading, he hadn't wasted his magazine on the lesser fodder and homed in on a pair of large shadows moving through the mist. He froze the moment he realized what they were.

"Wr-"

"What is it?" Harper asked.

The words the sniper was trying to say didn't reach them before the sound of something being fired in the distance. They could hear it rurring through the air, almost screaming but not quite. After several seconds, a blue comet of plasma burst through the mist, streaking towards them like a falling star.

"Wraiths!"

The troopers took cover, all except Duncan who found himself so caught off guard by the sight that he froze in place. Hector grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him down just as the plasma impacted just five meters short of their position. As they got back up, they found the collection of water it had hit had evaporated into a cloud of sizzling steam that temporarily obscured their view.

"This is 1-Actual to Neptune-Actual, we've got Plasma Mortars coming up the Western approach, over!"

"I hear you. They're doing the same thing on the other highways. I'm sending up Goliath's RPG team to assist on your end. Hold your ground until they get there."

"Copy that! Ep-6 get a range on those Wraiths! I want them paralyzed yesterday!"

Rico nodded just as another plasma mortar whooped into the air. It landed 7 meters away, boiling water and blasting floating Covenant corpses apart. The troopers shot back with suppressing fire in the general direction of the mortar's origin. That didn't stop it, or rather they, from bursting through the mist.

The two sleek, yet massive and bulbous assault carriages were dark purple and thickly armored. Their two wide stabilizer fins raked up waves of rainwater as their thrusters propelled them forward. Scores of Covenant soldiers came up behind them. Duncan could hear the bloodlust in the battle-cries of the Elites. Shield Jackals and Grunts followed their lead.

The troopers opened fire, focusing on the ground infantry using the tanks as cover. The more heavily armed Hector, Rico and Deaks paid their attention solely to the Wraiths. Hector slowed them down by raking their frames with high caliber bullets while Deaks honed-in on the Grunts manning the Plasma Cannons. They had little time to actually fire back at them before he replaced each of their right pupils with a 114-millimeter round.

"Gunners are out." Deaks said, reloading.

"My turn." Rico growled, an icy chillness entering his voice. He angled up his grenade launcher, waited until the two Wraiths were neck and neck then pulled the trigger. A torpedo-like ordinance THUMPED out of the muzzle. It arced through the air then disappeared in the waters ahead of the two craft. The moment they passed over it he released the trigger. The explosion barely damaged their large frames but released an electrical magnetic pulse that momentarily knocked out their systems. Their hovering capacities winked out and they crashed down onto the submerged tarmac.

But one of the Wraiths managed to shoot off a last plasma mortar that wailed as it soared towards them.

"Move!" The Staff ordered. He, Nova and Zack dashed away. The mortar landed a mere 2 meters from where they'd been standing, close enough to shake the ground and blow a 5-meter crater into a section of the wall.

Rico growled, popped the launcher open, thumbed another projectile into the chamber then snapped the weapon closed. He fired at the Wraiths, watched the grenade land between them and waited for the tanks to reactivate. When they did, he released the trigger, letting the EMP paralyze them a second time.

By then Goliath's 4 through 6 had arrived, armed with SPANKRs. They took up positions on the level above 4th platoon and fired. Their rockets whistled forward and slammed into the Wraiths. Tanking six of the explosions caused one to erupt in a spout of silvery blue fire. The other survived, although its armor was left crumpled and burning in places.

"Not good." Duncan noted, seeing that the rocket team were busy reloading. The second Wraith could still-

It fired. The energy mortar sailed across the air, moaning as it went. 4th platoon tracked its trajectory and ran out of the way. Goliaths 4,5 and 6 didn't move an inch and kept reloading. Duncan held his breath, watching them until the mortar slammed harmlessly onto the abandoned second ring.

Goliath 5 fired first. The rocket flew straight and true. The resultant force of the detonation pushed the Wraith back a full meter as it flowered through the craft from the point of impact, transforming it into a smoldering wreck.

The wreckage didn't stop the ground forces from swelling past them, however. Elites emerged first and fired their plasma rifles in their headlong charge. Scores of Grunts followed while Jackals moved ahead of the Elites to setup moving phalanxes of blue and red energy shields. Bullets had little affect against the handheld barriers. Instead the ODSTs turned to their grenades.

Duncan and Zack tossed frags in their direction while Rico fired his launcher beside them. The grenades detonated together, blasting through the phalanx and sending dead Jackals and severed limbs flying. Hector exploited the holes in the formation with his machine gun by mowing down swaths of Grunts and buffeting the energy shields of Elites. Deaks picked out Elites with weakened shields to fire high-caliber rounds clean through their armored foreheads, sending officers and minors alike tumbling into the water. The Staff, Nova and Yuri pulled the trigger alongside the rest of 1st and 4th platoons. With their commanding position and cover, something the other side lacked in totality, they stopped the advance cold in its tracks.

In under five minutes of fighting the Western Highway was given a refill of Covenant corpses. Now they had dead enemy armor to add to the collage of death whose enflamed hulls slowly dampened under the rain.

Then as if someone had turned off the faucet in the heavens, the rain ceased. To add to that, the few scanty Grunts that remained were panicking and retreating with hands raised. It was a welcome reprieve.

"Looks like we cleared them out." Duncan sighed.

"Ep-7 to 1-Actual, looks like the attack's been broken across the square. We may be in the clear."

"Don't let your guard down just yet." Harper scolded. "From what we heard, Zulu was fighting down here almost the whole night. We'll-"

Harper stopped when she heard it. They all did. It was a resonant BOOM that shook the Earth repeatedly, too sporadic to be artillery but too artificial to be thunder.

"Earthquake?" Zack asked.

Harper shook her head. "Earthquake's don't sound like footsteps."

Over the course of ten uncertain seconds the origin of the noise remained a mystery. Then it revealed itself as a building two hundred meters down the Western Highway broke apart then collapsed. A single, insectoid leg emerged from the debris cloud. It crashed into the street, creating another BOOM as it crawled forward.

At first Duncan thought he was looking at a horrifically oversized beetle. Then the veil of smoke pulled away to reveal a heavily segmented body, a purple sheen and four legs connected to a central carriage that resembled something of a Scorpion. The space between its front mandibles pulsed with sickly green energy, the same that occupied the rear AA turret staring them down.

"Scarab." Deaks breathed out.

"Yeah." Harper said. "So we better move. Move! Go! Go! Go!"

The ODSTs scrambled to get out of range.

The Scarab unleashed a guttural roar that sounded like hundreds of voices shouting as one. A moment later it spewed a tendril of menacing green energy from its frontal turret that droned forward.

The plasma baptized their section of the square, scorching the surface. While most of the troopers got out of the way in time, Duncan saw four from 4th Platoon disappear beneath the deadly blast. Any hopes that they were somehow still alive faded once the rear turret fired several bursts of emerald energy that incinerated the space where they'd stood only seconds earlier.

Both platoons plunged down into the street circumventing the square. They rushed through the ankle-deep water that had been heated by the constant plasma barrage. They split up and took cover behind the nearest buildings to the left and right of the highway.

The Scarab's intermittent steps thundered, indicating its advance.

"1-Actual to Neptune-Actual, we've got a Scarab on the Western Approach, over!"

"I see'em." Garrison said with astounding calm. "Is Goliath's RPG Team still with you?"

Harper glanced over at the trio of SPANKR users that were hustling through the watery street towards her. "Yes sir!"

"Good. I've already called in Longswords. They'll be here in 40 seconds. Have Goliath's 4,5 and 6 take out its AA turret before they reach."

"I copy." Harper relayed the orders to the rest of the platoon as well as Goliath's RPG Team. The rocket-trio nodded in turn and got into position near the corner, using the steam rising from the road for cover.

"Ep-7, eyes up, you're running this fire mission."

Zack snapped off a one-fingered salute and jogged up just behind the Goliaths to peek around the bend. The Scarab was only a hundred meters away and closing with each mammoth step it took. The SPANKRs beeped and whined, locking on.

Goliath 4 gave the thumbs up. "On your go, 1-Actual."

Harper gave the order. "Fire!"

Six rockets shot out of their chambers with a THUMP. They wisped through the steam and down the street. Two of the rockets veered off sharply from the Scarab, exploding harmlessly into the surrounding buildings due to the steam's interference with their heat-seeking. But the other four soared over the thoracic carriage to deliver a devastating series of explosive uppercuts to the AA Turret. The gun erupted into a glowing explosion that vented exhaust from its crumpled form. The frontal gun prepared another burst in reply. Seeing it coming, Goliath retreated behind the building. As they turned the corner the craft gave a thunderous roar and unleashed another stream of superheated plasma that steamed the highway. It travelled up and into the side of the building, spearing through from one side to the other. Debris rained down over them, although thankfully not enough to injure them.

"AA's down." Harper declared just as the rumble of aircraft engines came to ear. The ODSTs looked back to see a squadron of five Longswords soaring towards their location in an arrowhead formation. The leader of the swords came in over comms, sounding unexpectedly casual like a waiter about to take an order.

"This is Reaper-5-1 to Bravo, state your target, over."

Zack carefully stepped back to the corner to peek out at the Scarab. "Reaper-5-1, target is a Scarab advancing down the Western Highway 90 meters west of Montague Square and closing. Requesting fire mission danger close, attack coordinates 30 degrees North by 78 degrees West. Recommend you drop your payload close to the rear AA, over."

"Copy, fire mission danger close. Standby for delivery."

The troopers watched the Longswords file in behind each other. As they soared overhead, the lead fighter fired a pair of ASGM-10 missiles down at the Scarab before veering off. The rest of the squadron mirrored Reaper-5-1's actions. All ten missiles flew into the assault craft, peppering its central carapace with flames. Emergency sirens blared. The Scarab slowly lowered onto its haunches, its lights flickering. The sirens continued to wail for several more seconds until the craft gave a final, guttural cry.

In an instant, it disappeared in an eruption of harsh blue light that lit up everything within a kilometer radius with silvery blue illumination. The explosion tore it apart, limb from limb, leaving nothing behind except a blazing carapace and a crumbling frame.

Zack cheered over comms. The others joined him as they looked at the wreckage. Duncan stepped out to observe the sight with everyone else. Though no one was letting their guard down, they laughed in victory. Seeing the dead body of the smoking titan resting amongst the throng of Covenant dead, he couldn't help laughing himself. A win was win after all. At least for now, they'd won.

:********:

With Montague Square currently secured, Lieutenant Colonel Garrison wasted no time sending out 1st platoon and two others to secure forward observation posts further down their assigned highways.

1st Platoon was to secure the Saint Adelemus General Hospital about half a kilometer west of Montague. The building was an H-shaped structure ten stories tall. It had a good commanding position over the highway which made it perfect for the job.

Captain Harper led her team to secure the Left Wing while Sergeant Joels led Echo into the Right. The lot for the Central Hub fell into Epsilon's lap.

The Staff had them break out into four binaries to search different parts of the hub. The Staff and Nova went to check out the Admissions Department near the front. Deaks and Hector went to the Cardiology Department while Zack and Rico checked out the General Surgery arena. The Intensive Care Unit to the rear fell to Duncan and Yuri.

The last two quietly stepped down a darkened hallway. Multiple double-doors lined the walls. Duncan carefully checked through the windows of each one on one side while Yuri checked on the other. So far there was nothing of note save for the expected empty patient beds and therapeutic equipment. They stepped over the detritus of spilled medical apparatuses and turned-over wheelchairs that hinted towards a hasty evacuation.

"Think they got out alright?" Duncan asked, peeking into another room.

"Doubt it." Yuri replied. He kicked a fallen heart monitor out of his way. "Chances are we'll find person left behind by good for nothing doctor trying to save own skin."

"I hope you're wrong."

A squelching noise further along the hall caught their attention. They refocused their rifles on the way ahead.

"I think I'm right."

The two troopers cautiously strode further down the passage. They came up to a corner and turned it at the same time.

The creature ten meters further down the hall was half obscured in shadow. It was absolutely massive with bands of muscles partly hidden beneath a thick coat of gray fur, easily a head taller than an Elite but far less armored. It must've heard them coming because it turned to face them.

Duncan's first thought was that it was the missing link between man and ape. It looked like an evolved guerilla with blood-soaked canines that dug greedily into a severed human arm. Behind its feet was a gory mishmash of organs, limbs and fragments of patient dressing that looked like it had once been a woman, and behind its eyes glinted an unholy union of higher intelligence and bestial hunger. Its nostrils flared, taking in their scent.

The shock lasted only a moment. The ODSTs beat it to the draw and opened up on it, hitting it in the back with three round bursts. The alien howled but didn't go down, whipping out a Spiker. Duncan threw himself behind a set of supply crates as the first spikes glanced harmlessly off his shoulder.

Yuri wasn't so lucky. A pair of white-hot spikes pierced his armor and slid into his ribs before he could dodge. He fell over, screaming in pain but still firing back. He kicked down a nearby crate, causing it to fall in front of him. He crawled behind it and used it for cover against the hail of spikers zipping down the hallway. Then he laid his head against the wall and slid back, unmoving.

"Yuri!"

He didn't answer.

Duncan comm'd the rest of Epsilon. "This is Ep-1, we're pinned down by a Brute up on the 4th floor of the ICU! Yuri's hit!"

"On our way." The Staff replied. "Hold tight."

More spikes thumped into the crate at his back. The Brute had huddled behind a larger set of containers on the far end of the hallway for its own cover. Duncan took whatever opportunities he could to keep it occupied. He couldn't let it get away and run into anyone else or even worse, advance. He'd occasionally glance at Yuri. The Helljumper still moved. His chest raised unevenly with what must've been strained breathing. He had to get him out of here soon or not at all.

At a full minute and three spent magazines later, the door beside the Brute suddenly flew open. The creature turned to face the barrel of the Staff's shotgun. It reeled back as a blast ripped through its skull and spewed out flesh and bone. Yet it surprisingly stayed on its feet, growled then howled at the new combatant. The Staff didn't give it the time to bring up its rifle. He rushed out from the door and pumped a second round into its face at point-blanc range, punching out more brain matter. It was enough to finally make the alien topple back. The Staff stepped on its throat and pumped a third round of buckshot through its face for good measure.

"Clear!"

Nova came out behind him. They spotted Duncan and Yuri and came running. Deaks and Hector followed up from a separate hallway. They all gathered around Yuri. Nova crouched down to examine the cooling spikes and the blood seeping out of his trembling chest. He was struggling to breathe. They could hear it over their comms as he fought to inhale and exhale.

Nova shook her head. "We need to get him back to the square, sir, fast."

"Isn't there anything here we can use?" The Staff asked urgently.

"We're no medics. It wouldn't do us or him any good to find anything here."

The Staff nodded. "Alright, Ep-8, you and me are carrying him back. Ep-3, you'll cover us. Ep-2, you're in charge while I'm gone."

The troopers winked their acknowledgement lights, save for Yuri who could do little more than cough and wheeze.

The Staff and Duncan carefully wrapped one of his arms over their shoulders and held his limp form between them. They dashed towards a nearby flight of stairs. But as they went, Duncan looked back and saw only Nova and Hector following.

Deaks stood there, staring down at the body of the Brute. His hand reached for the meat cleaver sheathed on his shoulder, slowly, almost hesitantly.

"Ep-3!" The Staff called back.

Deaks stopped mid-reach. He turned and jogged after them. It looked like it had taken a real effort for him to do so.

As they started down the stairs, Yuri's breathing grew more ragged. "Ep-8, keep talking to him. Do not let him go unconscious."

Duncan heeded the Staff's warning and started talking up the Russian, trying to get a response out of him to keep his attention. He was hopeful when his coughing and wheezing stopped, then grew worried when he did nothing else.

"Yuri…Yuri...YURI!"

Defensiones - Defenses


	22. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 3 (Mercenarius)

Chapter 3 - Mercenarius

September 2nd, 2544 (04:01 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Matin Province, Continent of Vitre

5 Kilometers West of Provincial Capital of New Memphis

:********:

The drive down the highway was mostly quiet save for the sounds of the battle raging in New Memphis. The convoy of a half-a-dozen troop carrier Warthogs drove with all lights off except for their dimmed headlights. That way the enemy aircraft flying overhead wouldn't pay them too much attention. Even 5 kilometers away and the city was still dangerously in sight, meaning that 1st platoon would have to make it the last two kilometers to their destination in near complete darkness.

The void of the predawn hid away the night's terrors which revealed themselves in the shadows that streaked past the stars, the whine of propulsion and jet engines, and the occasional ball of fire that erupted above. The Covenant were mostly toning back their attack, likely readying to renew the assault in the morning. That gave the ODSTs a small window within which to reach one of the region's largest military manufacturing plants: their newest objective.

Earlier in the day they had managed to get Yuri back to Montague square. It had been close, but he'd gotten to the medics in time for them to save his life. They got to work right away removing the cooled spikes and sealing his wounds with the tissue regenerative polymer; biofoam. They also had to get him on a handheld respirator and sent him to a field hospital occupied by the 211th's 3rd Battalion further east. Until he was able again, if at all, Squad Epsilon would have to do without its resident hothead.

Around midnight, Lieutenant Colonel Garrison had received an urgent mission request from the commander in charge of ground operations around New Memphis. A materials production site belonging to the local branch of Misriah Armory needed assistance evacuating its assets off world. Those assets included the supplies required for the war effort as well as the machinery used to construct them. While a completely plausible strategy given the current situation on the planet, it was simultaneously a sign of bad faith and a sadly understandable one at that. It showed that even the weapon's production company knew any planet's days were numbered the moment the first Covenant ship slipped into the system, no matter how strongly defended. Sure, there had been exceptions to the rule like Arcadia, one of the rare victories for the UNSC early on. But it had been more than a decade since 2531, and there was a comparatively larger number of glassed colonies to make the case that what happened at Arcadia was merely an anomaly.

To answer the mission, Garrison had decided to spare 1st platoon. The premise was that he was giving them one of his best platoons, quality, while not sacrificing too much from his overall manpower, quantity. Duncan learned it was often the reason why they got picked for special assignments even before he'd joined up.

They borrowed a few Warthogs from 1st Battalion and got underway after stocking up on munitions. Now, sitting in the passenger seat of one of the Hogs, Duncan snuck a glance at the ammo-counter on his rifle and hoped he had enough for however long this mission would last. Hector had the wheel next to him, focused on the road.

"Hey guys, get this." Zack said, leaning over from his seat in the troop section. Duncan ducked to keep his radio antenna from poking the back of his head.

"I've been going through a few channels on SATCOM to piece together what happened before we got here, right? Turns out that the 12th and 15th Fleets arrived about a day after the initial report that the Covies were here. When they did, they found the Ulterin Defense Fleet, or what was left of them. It wasn't pretty."

"How many?" Hector asked.

"Just four ships, four, out of sixty."

Hector gave a low whistle.

"I know right." Zack sat back down. "This whole thing was going to hell before we even got here. I don't even have a clue how the 12th and 15th managed to slug it out in space for this long, probably using hit-and-run tactics until our QRF showed up."

"Maybe the fight's just that tough." Duncan suggested.

Zack shook his head. "The thing about that is there was only one Covenant fleet. It was just 40 ships. And they're going toe-to-toe with 'three' of our fleets after taking out Ulterin's Home Defense. That's more than triple their number, but somehow we're the ones having a hard time of it in the east. That's crazy, man."

He turned to the man sitting next to him. "What do you think?"

Duncan couldn't help looking into the rear-view mirror at who he was talking to. Since the Saint Adelemus Hospital, Deaks had mostly kept to himself. He'd been unusually quiet. Duncan thought about how he'd almost ignored the Staff's orders outright to take out his meat cleaver, affectionately named Silver Buddha, and get to work on the Brute's corpse. Then at the last second, he'd chosen to leave the body alone. For anyone else, that would've been a sign of a healthy human mind, but in this case, it gave Duncan and everyone else a cause for concern.

Deaks simply shrugged. "Losing three ships to their one, that's just the way of it."

"So what? You're saying we should be happy that they're not glassing us already?"

"…Yeah, pretty much."

"So optimistic." Nova commented from the other side of the troop section.

Deaks turned to her. "Hey, listen, I'm no optimist, I'm a realist, alright?"

"You're like a sociopathic tiger on most days yet you're acting like a neutered kitten right now." Nova said it more as a fact than an opinion. The analogy was a little weird but everyone knew where she was going with it. "What's wrong with you?"

Deaks exhaled, focusing more on the incoming tree-line less than a kilometer ahead. "I'm worried about Match, okay. Let's leave it at that."

"You and I both know Matchstick isn't going anywhere. You can't be someone as reckless as him and not come close to death more than once. He's been through worse and made it out alright. So, don't try lying to me, because I'll know."

The Staff who'd been sitting on the sidelines next to her broke from his half-nap to look at Deaks. "What is it, Ep-3?"

Deaks sat there for a while, thinking to himself. At length he waved a dismissive hand at them. "It's nothing. No worries."

The Staff watched him for a moment longer. "I hope so. We don't need anyone distracted on this go-round. Clear heads get the job done, and you know asset protection means we'll need eyes up. If anyone else' got any other concerns, voice them now or hold your peace."

Across team comm nobody said anything, so that was that. Duncan decided to keep his worries to himself. If Yuri had survived worse than maybe the Russian would actually turn out to be fine.

Then the mental image of his own picture with Fireteam Charlie flashed through his mind. It was brief, but slow enough for him to see everyone's faces. Everyone's.

He found himself taking out his rock from Harvest again and toying around with it one-handed. For reasons he didn't quite understand, he decided to hold the rock over the passing road for several seconds. He turned his hand from side to side to cause it to roll around in his gauntleted palm, but never let it get too close to the edge. A slight bump in the road made him immediately slide the childhood memento back into his pocket.

A growing number of Pine trees and Douglas Firs started showing up on either side of the convoy as they pressed down the highway. Hills began to appear, rising up all around them. The hilly outskirts of New Memphis were alive with chirping crickets. From what Duncan could gather, it was Spring season on Miridem. It never ceased to amaze him the way that nature seemed to carry on unaffected while fighting raged on the planet. Then he remembered the future of said nature rested squarely on who won that fight. If the UNSC took home the win, nature would continue its aloof course beside human affairs. However, for obvious reasons, it wouldn't be so if the Covenant won. He'd grown to understand that everything was tied together in a pact of mutually assured destruction. His high-school biology teachers' lessons about nature were wrong. As it turned out, the circle of life was more of a triangle, and humans were at the top, for better or worse.

The forest became denser after five more minutes and another kilometer had passed, then abruptly gave way to a lengthy concrete wall that towered a full 10 meters above the road. It ran from one end of the visible horizon to the next. Two gatehouses manned either side of a metal door leading inside.

A squad of several MPs stood watch. The convoy came to a stop outside the gate and two of them strolled over to Captain Harper's lead Hog.

"You guys the ODST escort?" one asked.

"Do we look like we could be anything else?" Harper asked snidely.

The man laughed a little. "No mam, but with the way things are going, wouldn't be surprised if you were pizza delivery. Everyone gets an armed escort these days." He waved at the gatehouses. "Let'em through!"

A moment later the metal door slid apart and the convoy carried on. Unlike what they'd expected, there were no buildings or structures yet. Only more trees. It was another half-a-kilometer before they came to another wall.

This time the MPs at the checkpoint let them pass without stopping them. Another 100 meters along and they found themselves approaching a series of large complexes. They arrived once they passed the third gate.

The La Grotte Manufacturing and Storage Grounds were a series of sprawling structures, networking roads and connective railways. Nine Weapon's Assembly buildings took up the bulk of the space. Their multi-levels, glass windows and circular architecture reminded Duncan more of Roman Colosseums with domed roofs. They marked off the outer boundaries of the La Grotte with three to the north and three to south with the largest one marking off the western boundary. Everything in between was an organized mazework of Shipping Departments, Office Buildings and a private nuclear power plant that occupied the heart of the grounds, fueling the goings-on across the site.

1st Platoon headed for the opposite end of the facility. Doing so forced them to face the flood of traffic that seemed to clog the arteries of the La Grotte like a heart-attack in the making.

Caravans of delivery trucks ladened with crates zoomed about, either stopping to have workers, dressed in olive-drab overalls, frantically load up more crates or driving off to make a delivery. The roadway was alive with vehicles and site-staff that lugged around materials baring Misriah's personal branding: three pairs of segmented wings surrounding two central diamond-shapes. The scene resembled a recently stepped-on ant colony. Larger shadows swung overhead as dozens of towering cranes pivoted against the backdrop of a stary sky. They picked up the larger storage containers and lay them onto the waiting flatbeds of tractor trailers. The ODSTs had to avoid running into more than one hulking 18-wheeler on their way through.

They came to the heart of the vehicular madness. The delivery trucks and trailers all piled up into a stagnant jam near the entrance of an L-shaped building. Even at a distance they could make out the sign on top: 'Transit Station'.

Several squads of MPs moved about directing traffic where they could. One of them, a Sergeant by the number of chevrons on his shoulder, came up to Harper's Hog. "ODSTs?"

Harper nodded.

"Park here and follow me. The Assistant Manager's waiting." He pointed over to a nearby sidewalk.

Harper had them pull in and they dismounted, following the Sergeant through the clogged roadways.

The entrance to the transit station was occupied with three trailers offloading their charges to workers that hauled them inside on gurneys. The Sergeant led the troopers in their wake. They were momentarily surprised as the dark exterior gave way to a well-lit interior. It was a kind of reception room with smooth marble flooring, lounges and wall-mounted displays. Waypoint was on, and from what Duncan could tell, it was a blonde-haired female pundit commenting on Miridem. As they passed by, he glimpsed a clip of what the woman described as the situation in the eastern hemisphere. It wasn't a pretty sight. Multiple camera angles showed at least four different cities that lay desolate and burning. The perpetrators showed themselves in the sharkish Covenant Battlecruisers and the Manta Ray-like Heavy Cruisers that hovered in the smoggy skies above.

"Think Delta and Echo are still holding up over there?" Zack asked, glancing at the feed.

"Listen." The Staff said. "I know you weren't with us then, but if you saw what Delta and Echo survived at New Constantinople, you'd think twice about doubting their chances out there. I wouldn't worry too much about those guys, or Alpha for that matter."

"Whatever you say, Staff." Zack said, although still uncertain.

The Sergeant led them over to a series of escalators leading to one descending level after another. Workers moved on larger escalators adjacent to theirs meant to accommodate for the various sizes of cargo that they transported.

They passed several levels until they came to a stop in a corridor labeled Level 'K'. As they were led around the corner, they spotted several men conversing in the hallway. All of them were MPs save one. He wore a distinguishable suit, had a portly figure, a scraggly goatee and graying hair. His attention flickered over to them. He excused himself from the earlier conversation and approached, nodding off to the Sergeant in thanks.

"I hope I'm not wrong in assuming that you're 1st Platoon?"

Harper shrugged. "We're the first ones here, aren't we, sir?"

Duncan spotted the nametag on his jacket that read 'Assistant Manager'. The man seemed to catch the humor but stayed business-like. He gave a curt bow of his head. "I'm Assistant Manager Roman, it's a pleasure." He offered his hand. The Captain took it and shook.

"Captain Harper. These are my troopers. You called for us, sir?"

Roman nodded. "Follow me please, I can explain everything along the way."

He'd already started turning to walk when Harper questioned, "Along the way to where?"

He stopped to face her again. "Oh, right, the tram station on level O. It'll be easier to give you the rundown now, then give you the…finer details personally if that's okay with you, Captain."

Finer details? Duncan wondered what he meant by that. The Captain didn't appear as curious, or perhaps she was better at hiding it than he was and nodded for them to carry on.

They headed down another set of escalators. Along the way, the assistant manager spoke up. "I'll be frank since frankly you'd know the situation outside even better than me. I'm sure you've already noticed that we're getting our supplies off of Miridem before a certain threat moves from the east to us here in the west. We want to preemptively evacuate our assets off world. I'm sure it needs no explaining how valuable the cargo is that we're moving."

They stepped off at a level labeled 'N' and got on to a final escalator. "That said, I'm sure you've already pieced together the part you'll be playing in this mis-"

Harper cut in. "My guess is that you want us running security for a sub-level tram you've got operational down here to get those goods from the La Grotte to a private Starport."

Roman winced and glanced at the Captain whose face he couldn't see behind her polarized visor. Everyone could see his, however. It was obvious by his flushed expression that he hadn't expected her to be right on the money. "Y-yes. That's…our exact intention."

Duncan imagined the Captain with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

Roman continued. "However, it's not so simple." They stepped down off the escalator to what appeared to be the last floor.

Duncan had wondered what he meant by 'not so simple' when his attention locked onto the space immediately in front of them. An arched ceiling held overhead lights that cast the tram station beneath in a metallic glow. The space was comprised of two opposite sides divided by a furrow along which an electrified, magnetic rail ran. A silver tram extended from one end of the furrow to the next, waiting for them, as were the thirty or so armed individuals standing guard around it.

They sported a kind of battle-dressing that seemed more suited for 25th century warfare. They wore tactical ballistic vests, torso-paddings along with arm and shin-guards. They appeared like shadows in the way their black coloring blended with the silhouettes of the room's support columns. Duncan couldn't spot any identifiable UNSC insignia on their shoulders. Yet they had an insignia, all of them: two arrowheads, one inverted and phased over the other to form a stylistic letter 'A'. Though he'd never seen it before himself, he figured the others had, that is, until the Captain spoke up.

"Who are they?"

The other group, whoever they were, looked like they had the same question. Some notably tensed at seeing the ODSTs. It showed in the way their grasp on the handles of their MA37s and DMRs tightened. While they didn't show any signs of immediate hostility, Duncan spotted movement out the corner of his eye and saw Deaks' hand sliding slowly towards his M6. Rico did the same thing by holding the back of his neck two-handed to make it seem like he was relaxed. All the while his fingers secretly hooked into the trigger of the grenade launcher on his back. Duncan noticed similar subtleties by the others, save for the Staff, Joels and of course the Captain. The three veterans looked to be outrightly sizing up the group without making any moves for their weapons.

Roman must have sensed the growing tension and stepped between the two groups like a peacemaking arbiter. "Captain Harper allow me to introduce you to Captain Stewards. He and his men will be assisting you on this mission." He gestured to Harper as well as another man in geared armor. The two strode towards the other, allowing the troopers to get a good look of the leader.

Captain Stewards was a visually unassuming man at average height and decent build. He had the air of discipline and simultaneous lack thereof in the way his caramel hair was buzzcut to near military regulation length and slicked back. At the same time his beard looked like it couldn't decide between being scraggly and well-combed. He had sleepy eyes that seemed to emanate with more suspicion than fatigue. Still, he greeted Harper with an honest-looking smile.

But that wasn't all that Duncan noticed about him. He also noticed the way he felt about the man. He sensed his finger unconsciously flex across his rifle's trigger guard. He couldn't articulate the reasoning with words, but something told him, almost screaming in the back of his mind that he needed to kill this man, and to kill him right here and right now or he would live to regret it.

Despite trying his best to suppress the urge, it wouldn't leave him alone. It was like an unexplained understanding of a situation that a person felt at rare points in life, a certainty that a specific action needed to be taken then and there. He chalked it up as his nerves being worn out by hours of sleeplessness and combat and ignored it.

The man held out his hand to Harper.

"Nice to meet you, Stewards." Harper said, shaking his hand in turn. "I'm Captain Harper of Bravo Company, 1st Platoon."

"Nice to meet you as well Captain." Stewards spoke with the grace of an aspiring gentlemen. "These are my guys here. We're Aegis Material Acquisition and Defensive Delivery Services, or AMADDS for short. I'm looking forward to working with you and your troopers."

:********:

From what Harper could gather, it was nothing short of a miracle that the AMADDS hadn't been utterly wiped out yet.

Minutes earlier, Roman had invited her and Stewards into a side-room with an available holotank for them to explain the mission's 'finer details' to her. They gave her a walkthrough using a projection of the tram-station.

The La Grotte's private tram was being used to transport their assets to the Vers L'avant Starport about 10 kilometers southwest of the facility. Their plan was to use its subterranean route as protection. The company didn't want to risk attacks from Covenant aircraft within the region.

There was only one problem. Essentially, the original magnetic railway they'd planned to use was cut off. A Seraph bombing run had caused a cave-in on the first day of the attack. The only way to the Starport now was through a bypass inside of a public tram station that lay between New Memphis and a nearby town. But that route was dangerous for various reasons.

Harper examined the holographic display's depiction of the 'North Camden' station. What immediately struck her were the many holes in the ceiling and debris within close proximity of the rail. If stealth was the goal then using the station was a tactical nightmare. It was far too exposed to the elements, and since the area around it had been evacuated and abandoned, there was no telling what might show up there during a given transit. Still, somehow the AMADDS had made it work for the last few days without incident.

The blockage had forced the hand of the management staff at the La Grotte. They'd hired on the AMADDS as professional help for the last 2 days. Even then, whether the motivation was the paranoia of possible loss or something else entirely, they decided to contact the UNSC for more security.

Despite whatever their reasonings were, Harper couldn't bring herself to understand why they brought in the delivery services personnel. As the war raged in the early 2530s, paramilitary and mercenary-for-hire groups sprung up across the outer-colonies out of locals' fear that the UNSC couldn't protect them all. It was a fear that sadly panned out to be well founded. That didn't make it wise, however, not in this situation.

Since the renewed armament's deal made 9 months ago, AMG Transport Dynamics, Sinoviet Heavy Machinery and Misriah Armory were effectively in the pockets of the UNSC, producing materials almost solely for the war effort on HIGHCOM's proverbial dime. Why then would they use personnel from the private sector unaffiliated with the UNSC to transport those materials? Why hadn't Misriah contacted them first for aid and only called the UNSC for help as a secondary consideration? The possible answers didn't bode well with her at all.

Roman finished up. "We estimate that the total evacuation of La Grotte won't take any longer than 3 days so you'll be able to return to your unit shortly after."

Harper, with her helmet off, nodded with her hands on her hips. "I get why you want to use the route. But I can't advise it. The station is simply too vulnerable. It's easily the most dangerous part of the entire trip."

Roman and Stewards looked at each other. At length, Roman asked. "Do you have any other recommendations then?"

"Yes. On my way here, I saw a number of 18-wheelers across the site. We could easily use them to mount a nighttime convoy system between the La Grotte and Vers L'avant Starport. That way we still have the cover of night while also transporting more materials. It would decrease the evacuation's time projection and limit the window that the Covenant have of finding you here with your pants down."

Roman looked slightly taken aback. Harper saw a small, amused smile cross Stewards' face. She was secretly keeping track of his reactions, trying to gauge what kind of person he was. So far, he hadn't done more than look suspicious of her while somehow looking inconspicuous at the same time.

"We…considered that." Roman said. "It's a sound strategy. The only problem is-"

"They got smoked, which is why we're here." Stewards said, his sleepy yet faintly alert expression never wavering.

"Y-yes. We tried a convoy system at night. However, we lost that convoy, along with the bulk of our original security forces embarked. We believe the Covenant aircraft detected their thermal signatures through the large amount of engine exhaust they gave off. Which is why we brought on the AMADDS and now you and your soldiers for this mission."

Harper considered it for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose. These new facts had thrown a serious wrench into things. She still didn't like the idea of using the tram but what other choice was there? One was less of a security risk than the other and she could tell it wasn't the one she favored. Moreover, she wasn't about to risk losing her entire platoon just to prove she was right. There was a chance that they could send smaller convoys to reduce their thermal signatures and give them a better chance of survival. Then again, that would consume about the same amount of time as using the tram. Either way, there was no getting around it.

"I understand." She sighed. "Camden North it is, huh?"

"Its our best option." Stewards assured. "Unless you've got any new inspiration for us?"

Though he'd said it respectfully, Harper could sense the mocking undertones beneath. She decided to ignore it. It was just one mission. They could get it done in a few days then be back with the rest of Bravo. Go in, deliver the goods, come back and do it again.

She shook her head. "You're good."

"Are there any other questions you may want answered, mam?" Roman asked.

"Yeah." She gave a long exhale. "When do we start?"

:********:

For Duncan, the ride to the North Camden station wasn't so bad. It was more of a fight to stave off boredom due to the lack of any external visuals beyond the windows of his compartment. The underground railway was pitch black. The only cue he had to reason that they were actually moving was the gentle rurring of the MagLev train as it glided over the magnetized tracks at 400 kilometers per hour. The constant sound and vibration beneath his feet vaguely reminded him of a cat purring.

10 minutes earlier they'd disembarked from the station after the tram's 12 storage compartments were filled to capacity with cargo crates. Because of their larger numbers, the AMADDS had taken their positions at the three forward passenger compartments as well as the three in the middle. 1st Platoon was saddled with the trio of rear passenger compartments. They occupied the wall-mounted seats, occasionally peeking out the window at the passing darkness as they waited to reach the station.

Nova and Hector were busy walking from compartment to compartment. Since they'd left the La Grotte, the two went about opening up non-vital components to get an idea of how the whole 'magnetic levitation' thing worked.

"Just don't cause us to crash." The Staff warned from his seat, already half-asleep.

The two assured him he had no reason to worry then went on a spree of investigating side-panels with the same wonder of two kids checking out insects with a magnifying glass.

"It's definitely electromagnetism." Nova noted as she looked over the mechanical organs of a removed floor-panel. "New Alexandria's got a few of these too."

Hector thought it over. "Then how did they make it into an organized system since magnets are pulling and pushing constantly? Wouldn't the currents cancel each other out, requiring some sort of thruster mechanics to compensate?"

"Nah. See, electromagnets are only magnetic when an electric current flows through them. From what I've figured out, this tram uses magnetic repulsion and not attraction like some others. How it works is the magnets on top of the guideway are oriented to repel similar poles of magnets in the bottom of the maglev. All the conductor has to do is control the alternating currents so they can quickly change their pull and push poles."

"And that lets them keep propelling the tram forward." Hector said, finishing the thought.

"Bingo."

Hector whistled at the exposed conduits. "I swear, its things like this that make me wonder if I took the wrong job."

"Same." The two-fist bumped and closed the panel back.

Zack sat on a nearby seat and shook his head at them. "Vehicle Junkies."

"Don't knock it till you try it." Nova replied. "You might be a grease-monkey in the making yourself."

The radiomen chuckled. "Doubt it." He stood up and grabbed one of the handrails when the Captain spoke over comms.

"1-Actual to 1st, we're arriving at North Camden in 40 seconds. Grab your gear and be ready to move. We're jumping out with the AMADDS to make sure the area's clear. Once they've handled the manual override, we're out of there."

The ODSTs winked their acknowledgement lights including the Staff who, despite all appearances of taking a nap, was wide-awake. Duncan wondered if he ever went to sleep or if he was always alert, like a coiled cobra ready to strike at a moment's notice.

They could feel the tram start to slow.

The Staff grunted as he pulled himself onto his feet. "You heard the Captain, eyes up."

In a few seconds, the vibrations beneath their feet noiselessly came to a halt. The troopers were already at the doors when they slid open. The sight that greeted them was less than welcoming.

Starlight streamed unchallenged through several large holes in the ceiling almost twenty meters overhead. It was the only light that illuminated the otherwise dark void they found themselves in. They activated their VISR modes which drew out the dilapidated reception room in green highlights. The station itself was on the left side of the tram and appeared to have been the sight of a raging firestorm, probably courtesy of the plasma charges dropped here days ago. Burned chairs were turned over and scorch marks on the room's ten major support pillars paid testament to the destruction.

Squads Epsilon and Eagle slowly fanned out across the boarding platform and took up defensive positions close to the vulnerable storage compartments. Several squads of AMADDS did the same further along the tram. So did others on the opposite side who moved out with Squad Echo across the lower space near the rail.

"Watch those shadows." The Staff ordered.

Duncan swept his targeting rifle across the reception room, scanning the isles of discarded chairs and as far as the several staircases leading back to the surface. Nothing moved.

They had to wait while Captain Stewards reached the manual junction lever that would give the tram a 1-minute window to switch tracks before it automatically snapped back into place. He glanced over at the two separate tunnel exits ahead. One of them was filled to the brim with debris. The other, however, was still operational.

He spotted Stewards further along the platform. The Captain and one of his men were using their bodyweight to push a vertical lever across its fulcrum.

Duncan was secretly thankful that whatever murderous urge had come over him earlier wasn't there this time. He was still concerned about it, but more so from the angle of his mental health. He'd thought he had developed a hardier stomach for his line of work since the Molnar Bombing. The others were no strangers to years spent on the frontlines yet they were sane, mostly. He quietly hoped he stayed with it like they did, for his own sake and theirs.

There was a loud crack followed by the slow clumping sound of interlocking gears in motion as Stewards moved the lever into place. The grinding sound of the rails shifting came a second later.

"Alright people, let's head back inside." Harper said.

The troopers back-pedaled into their compartments. The AMADDS did the same with a level of professionalism that, for some reason or another, unnerved Duncan.

The troopers breathed easy once the doors closed. No one realized how tense they'd actually been until they were back inside. There was something about the vulnerability of North Camden station that didn't sit well with anyone. The darkness wasn't a help either, or the fact they would be coming back here constantly over the next three days. Plenty of time and opportunities to get ambushed.

The tram started up again. They felt it twist as it slithered over the juncture and into the adjacent railway, pulling them along the public route and returning them to the featureless darkness of the subterranean realm.

:********:

It took another ten minutes for them to arrive at the Vers L'avant Starport. They knew they had arrived by the way the tram emerged without warning out of the tunnel and onto the surface. The Starport was less than half-a-kilometer away on the far end of a bend in the magnetic rail. It was a large and more open area surrounded by tall pines and fencing. As they got closer, they made out a single terminal building where umbilicals connected to a number of civilian freighters parked on the runway.

They circumvented the bend and came to a fork of boarding platforms where cargo personnel were already waiting to unpack the storage compartments. By then their speed had slowed to allow them to slide smoothly into place. The tram came to a stop with a hiss and the doors slid open. The troopers stepped out into the cool morning air. They observed from the sidelines while the workers got to carrying out the crates, even using a forklift or two for some of the larger containers.

"Those are Bactrian and Parabola-class freighters from the looks of it." Hector remarked, focused on the Starport's ships.

"I thought you were a vehicle guy." Duncan said.

Hector shrugged. "It's that Russki. If you listen to him long enough during some of his rants, you'll actually learn a thing or two. I know, hard to believe, right?"

"I bet he wouldn't mind being here to give one of those things a joy-ride." Rico added. No one said anything else on the topic. They trusted that their comrade would recover alright but didn't want to stay on the issue for too long.

During their quiet vigil, Duncan spotted Stewards coming towards them. He was by himself with his DMR slung casually over his shoulder.

He gave a slight smile, laughingly holding up his hands. "Don't shoot me, okay? I just wanted to tell you guys you were really good out there. I didn't come to say much, just keep it up, alright?"

The compliment felt odd at first hearing it. It sounded genuine, just odd. They were ODSTs after all, 'being good out there' went without saying. The Staff gave him a thumbs up. "Same to you and your guys."

Stewards nodded. He started to walk off when he seemed to remember something. "Pass that on to your Sergeant and Captain for me if you will."

"Will do."

Then Stewards went back, allowing them to maintain their quiet vigil.

"Well that guy's weird." Zack said, again becoming the mouthpiece of the squad's subconscious, saying what everyone else was already thinking.

"So is wearing armor meant for fighting humans and not aliens." The Staff added out of his own observation. "Like everything else about this mission, take anything those guys say with a grain of salt. Understood?"

There was a unified "yes sir" from everyone. Duncan could only wonder why he'd chosen to walk all the way over to them and deliver a message when he could've used his comms. Then he found himself blinking at the first rays of sunlight that came through his visor. The star Ulterin was beginning to crest the western horizon. It was dawn now and the skies were beginning to change from their predawn pink to a regular blue hue.

Nova yawned. "Can we head back now?"

The squad's attention turned to the storage compartments. They were mostly emptied out already, far quicker than anyone had expected. The AMADDS were also heading back into their compartments.

"Ep-1 to 1-Actual, the cargo's looking pretty empty here. Are we in the green?"

"Yeah, lets call it a day." Harper replied.

"Calling it a day, over." Joels quipped.

The Staff pointed to their compartment and they followed him inside. The doors slid shut behind them. There was a hiss then the tram was off again. It rounded a circular section of railway then returned down the way it came.

Everyone sat exhausted in their seats. They stayed awake regardless. Rest would have to come once they got back to the La Grotte, for however long that would be. And they still had to go back through North Camden station. That kept everyone on edge enough to take a lesson from the Staff and keep their eyes cracked open.

Mercenarius – The Hired


	23. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 4 (De Profundis)

Chapter 4 - De Profundis

September 13th, 2544 (20:00 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Matin Province, Continent of Vitre

Near abandoned North Camden Station

:********:

What was supposed to be 3 days of deliveries turned into nearly 2 weeks of constant back and forth. As it turned out, the Assistant Manager's time projections were off by leaps and bounds. Materials from La Grotte proved to be in greater quantity against the comparatively small storage compartments on the tram. Garrison surprisingly agreed to let the troopers stay on the mission, acknowledging its overall strategic importance in the grand scheme of things. Attempts to solve the problem by increasing the daily workload to 1 new nightly transit every 2 hours left everyone drained on a daily basis. While the trip itself was short, it was filled with tension that intensified every time they stopped at the North Camden Station. Thankfully, they hadn't had any incidents yet. That didn't stop the growing concern that there was always a chance.

The situation across the planet did little to settle their nerves.

Zack had essentially become the gateway of information between 1st platoon and the outside world. They learned through him how the situation in the east had deteriorated drastically. Just 4 days ago, the surviving elements of the 12th and 15th Expeditionary Fleets as well as the Reach QRF were sent in full retreat after a second Covenant fleet arrived in system to reinforce the first. Though it was only 10 ships, the numbers made the difference and managed to tip the scales of the battle back in the Covenant's favor. The Navy and whatever UNSC personnel and civilians were left were now gathering in the West for a final defense. From what Zack was hearing on SATCOM, the general idea was to use New Memphis as a hub for organizing the final evacuation efforts of Miridem's remaining population. Even that wasn't going so well, because to pull it off, they would need control of the city's most important building: The De Gaulle Starport.

The Starport was the largest public installation of its kind in the western hemisphere. It could support the evacuation operation easily enough. The sole problem was the fact that it was still in enemy hands. It was surrounded by the last major pocket of the Covenant scouting forces left in the city. With the help of Bravo Company, the 211th Marines' 1st Battalion were able to grate away at the Covenant in the western sector of the city and bought time for the remainder of the division to deal with the rest of New Memphis. With the help of the 53rd Armored Division garrisoned in the region, they were able to wipe out the majority of the enemy pockets, then swung out into a successful offensive against the western holdouts. All that was left now was the De Gaulle.

Garrison, the rest of Bravo, along with elements of the 211th and 53rd Armored respectfully, had laid siege to the surrounding area for the last 3 days in a constant drive towards the Starport. They were making progress. The rest of 1st platoon had to hope it would be enough since they were too busy making deliveries to focus on anything else.

The trips were relatively quiet. For the longest time the tension wasn't surrounding a threat at North Camden that refused to materialize. Rather, it was between the two groups of passengers on the tram itself.

The ODSTs and AMADDS remained separate for the most part. A mutual air of cooperative trust permeated between them when they were on a given transit, then turned to private distrust at any other time. They tended to avoid each other on the daytime off-hours when deliveries couldn't be made.

That wasn't to say that no one had tried. On the AMADDS' end, Captain Stewards made it a habit of drifting over to the troopers' compartments by himself to stir up small talk. He came across as something of an unusually social officer. Questions on what it was like to fight the Covenant were a few of the topics of his discussions. He found an expected talking-partner in Zack after the two found out they were both interested in the Galactic Cup being held on Tribute later in the year. They argued over sports teams in half-an-hour intervals each time without fail. Those discussions would often end, however, once he started asking members of 1st platoon where they were from. He'd leave with no answers.

Zack, the awkwardly social butterfly that he was, tried returning the gesture by striking up casual conversations with some of the AMADDS. Those only went so far. The most luck anyone had of forming a sort of connection between the two groups was Deaks who was in the business of expanding his own. He'd bragged about marketing and selling around 500 credits worth of his tooth necklaces to the guns-for-hire. He also had the digital currency to prove it. While Duncan wanted to know how he was pulling it off without anyone else noticing, today he was very preoccupied with a far more pressing mystery.

Today everyone was on edge due to a disturbance at the North Camden earlier in the day.

In the middle of the first week, Captain Harper ordered Duncan and Nova to setup a series of small cameras around the station that could be monitored across time. The two were assigned to keep an eye on the station in shifts using a portable computer based in Epsilon's compartment.

On any given trip Duncan or Nova would take turns flicking through the feeds that showed the interior of the station from various angles along with several ground motion sensors.

In the evening, around 17:30 Hours, several cameras went dark. Duncan was on watch. He immediately checked the ground motion sensors. There was no movement. Then the remaining cameras went out in quick succession. There was one left operational that was now lying face-down on the floor. The camera's auditory sensors were still online, yet all the sound he could make out was a distant kind of chirping.

He wasted no time informing the Staff of what happened. The Staff in turn showed it to the Captain and Sergeant Joels who also shared the information with Stewards and the Assistant Manager. No one was excited for the news to say the least. There was a high possibility, even a likelihood, that the station was finally compromised.

Harper proposed that they abandon North Camden altogether. Yet Roman pressed that that simply wasn't an option. Stewards repeated the sentiment. They reasoned that there was no way to avoid it since they would be losing time if they didn't investigate. Roman insisted that they also bring along the regular shipment of materials to the Vers L'avant. He didn't want to risk delaying La Grotte's already overextended evacuation deadline even more.

They geared up, overstocking on ammo. Everyone except Duncan. He was forced to spend his time already on the tram running through the hours of footage with Nova. They tried to pinpoint any given second where something might've crossed the cameras. They didn't find anything despite hours' worth of footage replays.

Duncan kept checking even as they started for North Camden. He slowed the footage, his attention flicking between five separate feeds on the computer display. Still nothing. He triple-checked the ground sensors for detectable movement, footsteps, anything. But there was little that couldn't be explained by natural vibrations due to subtle tremors from Miridem's tectonic plates. Otherwise the sole anomalies were the cameras themselves whose fall as they toppled over registered on the ground.

The available evidence pointed to a single likelihood: birds were invading North Camden. His conclusions came from what the auditory sensors picked up: the subsonic chirping that he'd detected almost by accident. He'd decided to check the lower frequencies out of desperation and found them that way. After showing it to the Captain, she ruled out birds since there were no known species on Miridem that communicated at those frequencies. Duncan pointed out that crickets might. Then again, crickets couldn't knock over cameras.

"Stay on this tram, Ep-8." Harper ordered. "Keep listening to the audio and try to refine some of those images. Update me if you find anything."

"Yes mam." Duncan kept at it while everyone else waited either for their arrival at the station or for him to find anything new. The former came first.

The tram hissed to a stop along the station's boarding platform. The doors slid open. No one moved right away. Both ODSTs and AMADDS alike were cautious. They scanned the dark exterior with an eye for any detail that looked out of place. Although the debris scattered across the reception room was naturally out of place, they'd gotten used to it and formed a mental map overtime. It allowed them to pick out any new shadows or shapes, especially with the troopers' VISR modes activated.

There was nothing noticeably unusual about the ruinous station so they began stepping out into it. Eagle and Epsilon fanned out across the reception room. Echo went out the other side to check the lower areas, sweeping the fields of detritus along the tracks clear with their rifles. The AMADDS mirrored their actions further along the tram. They moved in coordinated fireteams of five under Stewards' direction.

Duncan meanwhile was left alone on the tram. He switched from the mostly static camera feeds to the auditory sensors on the last remaining camera. "This is Ep-8, anyone close to Camera-5 yet?"

"Yah bro." Rico replied. "One sec."

The camera's view changed a moment later as it was raised up and he found himself looking into Rico's visor. The other ODST sized up the device. "Looks like something pushed it over but I don't see any signs that anything came through here."

"Nothing?" Duncan asked. "No tracks?"

Rico shook his head. "Nada…wait, I think…" He reached for something on the camera. His hand came back holding a piece of a paper-thin substance with a crusty exterior and brown hue. "Found this on the camera-stalk. What do you think it is?"

It seemed to break apart into flakes in the ODSTs' hand. Duncan couldn't so much as guess what it was. He shrugged. "No clue."

Rico shrugged as well and set the camera back on its stand. The Staff walked over. "Found anything?"

"Nah. This camera's still up and running though so there's that."

Captain Harper came in over comms. "1-Actual to 1st and AMADD personnel, the reception room's clear. I'm taking my team to check the upper floor and setup some mines near the entrance. Since there's no civies in the area, we won't be putting anyone at risk that we don't want to."

Stewards interrupted. "You sure about that Captain? It might've just been a strong wind coming through the holes in the ceiling that knocked over your cameras. I doubt anything serious would be wondering down here where there are no humans. Like you say, the civies are all gone."

"And we're still here." Harper rebutted. "Which means North Camden has a human presence, even if it's only a temporary one. I don't want to risk the Covenant noticing and trying to get the jump on us."

"With respect mam, you've been arguing we setup mines since day one of you're being here when there's no evidence of the Covenant so much as having an interest in this place."

"It's called preemptive action, Stewards." She noticeably left out the 'Captain' part. "And before now we never had enough time to setup anything down here except the cameras. But now that those are down, I don't plan on taking any more chances with my men's lives. Will you?"

There was a palpable silence. "…Do what you have to, Captain." Stewards' squelched his commlink.

Rico held in a laugh. "Ese es el Capitán para ti."

"Get with it, Ep-6." The Staff said and turned to face the camera. "Ep-8, keep digging into the recordings until we say otherwise."

"Got it."

Duncan went back to work flipping through the feeds. At five minutes with nothing to show for his work save for hours of recorded nothingness, he felt curious about Camera-5 and why it was the last one operational. Setup near the threshold between the reception room and the boarding platform, it was one of several others in that part of the station closest to the tunnel leading back to La Grotte. Yet it also would've been the furthest from the tunnel to the Starport and just so happened to have an angle on that same passageway.

Maybe there was a point of interest to that fact. He checked the audio recordings again. Nothing but chirping. It really could have just been birds that got inside the station. There was nothing conclusive about the noise so he started investigating the feeds instead. He fast-forwarded through hours of the day's earlier recordings from camera-5's perspective.

He was watching the night-vision view slowly rotate across the station at time-stamp '17:30 hours' when something flashed across the screen. He quickly stopped the video and rewound it. Seconds later something flashed by again, confirming he wasn't seeing things. He replayed it and slowed down the speed until he was able to catch a freeze-frame of the image. It was a brown blur of motion that moved too fast to be identified. Even refining it didn't help. It had to have been moving at high speeds because it appeared in one frozen image and was gone in the next, meaning it had disappeared in the split-second gap in time.

Duncan looked closer at where it had appeared. Interestingly, camera-4 was placed in the very same spot where it had showed up. The way it appeared meant that the apparition had to have been above the camera, then just as quickly disappeared without even hitting the ground. When it disappeared, he took note that camera-4 was reeling forward from the motion, as if pushed.

He was forming a hypothesis when his attention flicked to the background of the same image.

He spotted something, a silhouette, a shadow on the distant tunnel wall leading to the Starport. It wouldn't have been too worrying a sight were it not for the fact that it was crouching on the wall, horizontally. He looked closer. It was humanoid but distinctly non-human. It wasn't an Elite, a Brute, a Grunt or Jackal. So what was it? He magnified the image and saw a smudge of two yellow dots. He refined the picture quality and it clarified into a set of compound eyes that glowed in the dark, staring right back at the camera.

Duncan froze. The gravity of the situation dawned on him. He suddenly shot to his feet and ran for the doors. As they slid apart, he stopped in the threshold. The other ODSTs were too occupied looking around the boarding platform and reception room to notice him. He was about to call on the comms when he felt the need to look up. He did, slowly. He didn't see anything except the dark ceiling at first. He hesitated but turned on his VISR. Again, nothing. Then upon closer scrutiny, if he hadn't known better, he would've thought that the entire ceiling was breathing.

He gradually began to make out the more distinct shapes.

There were dozens of them, perhaps a hundred or more on the ceiling. Their arthropodal bodies were reclined in on themselves like sleeping bats hanging upside down. Their carapaces gently expanded out then folded back in. They were asleep. There were so many that his VISR couldn't immediately identify them as enemy contacts, only as a single and unclassifiable mass. That must've been why no one else had spotted them. Everyone was too focused on the ground-level to look up for too long. The creatures were together in bundles as if it were a nest, and as his VISR continued to highlight one crimson entity after another, Duncan realized that that might be exactly where he now stood.

His voice came as a horse whisper over comms. "Staff."

The Staff glanced over his shoulder at him. "What is it Ep-8, did you find something on the feeds?"

Duncan slowly nodded his head. The Staff must've noticed he was acting strange and faced him fully. "What is it?"

As if it could awaken the great hosts above, Duncan pointed his forefinger with all delicateness at the ceiling. The Staff followed where he was pointing. Then he also froze. His voice similarly came out horse. "My God."

He quickly switched to team comms. "This is Ep-1 to everyone on the line, do not open fire. I repeat, do not open fire. We've got multiple Drones on the ceiling in the main reception room above the tram, over."

There was a moment of hesitant silence as everyone glanced at each other, at the Staff and Duncan, and then up at the ceiling. Everyone in the room saw them then. Their tense postures slackened as the realization dawned on them all that the enemy was already here. No one moved.

Gunfire in the distance suddenly erupted, causing everyone to flinch, even the AMADDS who'd been tuned in with their own comms. It was coming from deeper within the station.

Duncan saw movement on the ceiling as some of the Drones began reacting to the noise. Several pairs of glowing amber eyes began to open.

"Not good." Nova said.

"Ep-1 to 1-Actual, is that you shooting, over?"

The Captain answered, sounding flustered. "This is 1-Actual. I copy your last. We got ambushed by more Drones on the upper level. One was awake enough to spot us and start shooting, now it's waking up the rest of the nest. We're pulling back to the tram. Get ready for a hot exfil, over!"

That wasn't good either. Everyone knew that if the Captain came back firing while retreating, it could wake up every Drone in the station. The last thing they needed was a firefight down here against an enemy with air-mobility within a confined space. That wasn't even considering the risk of the fight causing an accidental detonation of the ordinance packed inside the tram.

The Staff quickly dished out orders. "Ep-2, 7 and 8, on me. The rest of you stay here and stay quiet. If the Buggers start moving, fall back." The ODSTs winked their acknowledgement lights. The selected troopers quietly jogged behind him towards one of the stairs on the far side of the reception room.

"Ep-1 to Echo-1, we'll be back. We're gonna help out Eagle."

"Roger." Joels said. "We'll hold here. Just make sure to help the Captain before she brings any unwanted guests with her."

The Staff, Duncan, Nova and Zack sprinted up the first stairs. As they did they could hear the gunfire getting closer and closer with each step. They reached a point where the stairs diverged into two separate cases and rose up in the opposite direction. Without a word they broke into binaries with Duncan and Zack taking the left staircase. They reached the top, hopped over the guard gates and stopped in their tracks.

The scene looked like a disturbed hornet's nest. The upper level was a rectangular waiting room with a high ceiling and about several dozen Drones that crawled and flew from wall to wall. The insectoid aliens chirped and screeched as many of them fired plasma pistols at the surviving members of Squad Eagle pinned down on the opposite end of the room.

Duncan spotted two ODSTs lying in a pool of their own blood alongside seven dead Drones.

He heard Harper.

"Guys, cover me and Eagle-3, we're going for the door." The Captain and one of her troopers emerged a second later and ran for a nearby door, stopping to crouch behind a chair and fire full auto into the thorax of a Drone about to kamikaze them. The creature screeched as the 7.62-millimeter rounds tore its golden thorax in half. Three more flew in at the Captain. Duncan and Zack quickly joined Squad Eagle in gunning them down to let the others pass.

That got the attention of five more Drones hovering several meters away. They refocused on the two new arrivals and fired blots of plasma. The troopers slid behind a row of chairs that took the bulk of the discharges. Gunfire from the sidelines caused two of the Drones to erupt into explosions of yellow gore. The other three flew about wildly to address the Staff and Nova firing from the other staircase.

Duncan caught one in the back with two three-round-bursts. It screeched then toppled down to the floor. Buckshot from the Staff blew the last two to pieces.

An explosion got the troopers' attention. A Drone had stumbled over an Antilon anti-personnel mine on the opposite side of the room, taking two more of its kin out with it in the resulting detonation. They saw the Captain and Eagle-3 arrive at the entrance to what looked like another staircase. Eagle-3 grabbed the handle and was pulling it open when a blur of motion blew through the door, tossing Harper back. The Drone that flew out grabbed Eagle-3 before he could react and fluttered away.

The comm was alive with troopers trying to find a line of fire that wouldn't hit their comrade. Even the half of Epsilon couldn't find one and were forced to duck as more Drones strafed their positions.

Eagle-3 tried to jab a knife into the creature's thorax. It grabbed his arm with its foot mid-jab and snapped the limb at an odd angle. He screamed at the pain and struggled to get free a moment before it plunged two clawed fingers into the bottom of his head, piercing his jaw. His screams were muffled. The Drone ignored the retaliation fire that flashed past as it flew at the Staff and Nova. It grabbed Eagle-3's helmet with both hands and quickly twisted it with the ease of a jar lid. The ODST's struggles died away. The Drone dropped his body, sending it torpedoing into the Staff who fell back under the weight.

Suddenly the room was bursting at the seams with more Drones as dozens of others spewed out of ceiling vents and maintenance shafts to fill the air with green plasma. One burst through a vent right above Zack. It swooped down, grabbed his shoulders with its legs and pulled him up. Zack growled and fought against it but couldn't get his rifle up. With an aggravated screech it thrust a leg at him. The sharpened limb could've easily impaled him but stabbed into his radio instead. Sparks flew out which blew into an electric flame that quickly enveloped the radio and spread to the insect. It shrieked at the fires that enveloped it and dropped its charge.

The moment Zack hit the floor Duncan unloaded half-a-magazine into the writhing alien. It squealed and fell to the floor next to him. Zack's radio was still burning. He thrashed around, trying to reach it. "Get it off! Get it off!"

Duncan rushed to his side to help pull off the straps while being mindful of the fire. Once he was free Zack kicked away the busted equipment. More plasma fire swooping overhead made them promptly return fire.

Duncan peeked over his cover and spotted the rest of Eagle. There were less of them now, only four including the Captain who'd huddled behind an overturned table to return fire.

"1-Actual!" The Staff called, unshaken as Nova pulled Eagle-3 off of him. "Your exfil's compromised! Can you make your way back over to us!?"

Harper replied through gunfire. "I hear you Ep-1! Got any ideas how we can do that given our current situation!?"

"Frags Cap, that's all we've got!"

There was a shooting-filled silence while Harper weighed their options. "1-Actual to 1st and AMADD personnel. Be advised, it's about to get lively down there, over!"

There was more gunfire on Joels' end followed by the distant sizzling detonation of a grenade launcher as he spoke. "They're plenty lively already, 1-Actual! Just find a way back so we can pull out of here, over!"

There was no response from Stewards.

"Greenlight, Ep-1!" Harper said.

The Staff nodded to his squad who nodded in turn. They pulled the pins on their frag grenades and tossed them throughout the room. They bounced off the floor and detonated. The resounding blasts and searing shrapnel tore scores of drones apart. While their eviscerated corpses hit the ground, at least half of their number survived.

It would have to be enough.

"Move out!" Under Harper's orders her team followed her lead. They raced towards Epsilon as the other squad covered them. Squad Eagle took up a diamond formation with two covering the sides, one covering the rear and Harper heading the charge. Drones fell around them by the handful. Yet more kept pouring in. They ignored the dying screeches of their own to focus on the humans.

A Drone swept past Eagle-2 at the rear, slashing his throat. He flew back onto Harper who stumbled forward but didn't stop. She threw him over her shoulder without looking back and carried on, firing her SMG one-handed.

Three more Drones came at Eagle-5. She fired into them, cutting down the first two. The last one made it close enough to force down her rifle with its legs and discharged an overloaded plasma pistol into her face. She slumped to the floor in a heap, her body sizzling.

Eagle-8 cried out as a plasma bolt hit his thigh and he dropped to his knees. Before he could get back up, a mob of Drones quickly fired a hail of plasma into him. He keeled over and fell.

Only the Captain was left. She shot into the swarm, pushing on. Duncan, the Staff, Nova and Zack pulled the trigger on the large hosts, hoping to at least save the Captain.

Then a Drone landed beside her, yanked away the gasping trooper on her shoulder and flew off. The motion threw Harper onto her stomach. She barrel-rolled and rose to a knee to fire into the horde, trying to shoot down the duo of insects now kidnapping her subordinate. The man could do little for himself than clutch at his throat and cry out in gargled gasps.

Another Drone caught her SMG before she could react and pulled the gun away. She whipped out her combat knife and rammed it into the creature's right eyes. It squealed and reeled back but took the knife with it. Four more immediately rushed her. They grabbed her legs, an arm and her helmet and flew into the air with her.

Duncan fired at the two that disengaged from the rest of the swarm with Eagle-2 in hand. Yet more of their kind got in the way to take the bullets for them, allowing their brethren to escape into an overhead vent, dragging the struggling trooper with them into the dark.

He saw everyone else firing at the main swarm and spotted the Captain being raised into the air. Reloading, he shot in three-round burst to keep the bullet spray from hitting her.

The swarm proved too great. The insectoids returned plasma for lead, bathing their cover with suppression fire and forcing Epsilon to duck back.

The Staff called out. "1-Actual!"

Harper grunted against the vice-like grips holding her in place. She fought, kicked and punched to no avail. Duncan peeked through the chairs and caught sight of her looking back at them. His eyes widened as he realized she wasn't fighting back.

"Get out of here, Epsilon!" Harper yelled. "That's an order!"

The Staff growled and rose up to shoot down more Drones in an attempt to save her. It took Nova pulling him down to avoid an onslaught of responding fire. The Staff reloaded. "We're NOT leaving you here! Ep-2, get ready to-"

"Atty."

The Captain's calm voice reached the Staff. He peeked through the chairs at the Captain as the Drones began stretching her limbs to the limit as well as her neck. She depolarized her visor to show her face, one of incredible strain yet resolve and resignation. She spoke through gritted teeth "Go! NOW!"

The Staff remained still, staring back at her for the longest second. Then with a slow nod of his head, he pulled out a flashbang grenade and turned to the rest of Epsilon. "You heard the Captain, Move!"

The troopers willed themselves to stand as the Staff pulled the pin and hurled it over the chairs. The blast of blinding light a second later brought an abrupt end to the firefight. The ODSTs took their chance. They ran for the stairs.

As they did, they could hear the Captain's rising screams. No one dared to look back. No one except Zack. Duncan saw him look over his shoulder and stop in his tracks just as a sickening ripping sound came to ear.

The Captain's screams stopped.

Duncan grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to turn around. The two quickly bounded down the stairs behind the Staff and Nova. They could hear the Drones coming after them. Duncan chucked a grenade behind them to buy time. Seconds later, the blast hurled him and Zack down the flight of stairs. They hit the bottom along with flecks of insect flesh.

The Staff and Nova helped them to their feet. Then they were running again. They came down the second flight of stairs and out into the reception room.

The entire station was alive with a cascade of vibrant green plasma raining down on the tram, pockmarking its surface and melting it in places. Scores of Drones flew past in growing numbers, firing at the tram from the ceiling, the reception room and every conceivable space. An army of them poured through the tunnel leading to the Starport, flooding the entire station. There was no sign of the ODSTs or AMADDS.

"This is Ep-1, we're coming in! Can you cover us!?"

The doors on the closest compartment opened and a mix of ODSTs and AMADDS stood ready. Hector and Joels were at the threshold, waving them over. "Echo-1 to Ep-1, now would be a good time to leave, over!"

The Staff, Duncan, Nova and Zack ran for their lives. The AMADDS and ODSTs opened fire at the Drones that got in their way. They threw themselves inside the tram and the doors slid shut behind them once they hit the floor.

Joels looked them over. "Where's 1-Actual? Where's Eagle?"

The Staff stared up at the Sergeant, then looked away. Joels took a step back. He glanced out the doors, shaking his head. He snapped himself out of it and comm'd Stewards. "Everyone's onboard! Go!"

"Copy." Stewards replied.

They felt the tram move beneath them then start to leave the station, headed down the tunnel back to La Grotte. It accelerated to full speed in under ten seconds. The throngs of Drones tried to pursue but couldn't keep pace and fell behind.

The tram zoomed back towards La Grotte, back to safety.

In the darkness of the subterranean tunnel, Duncan found himself lying against the compartment wall. He didn't have the strength to pull himself up into a seat. He popped his helmet seal and pulled it off to lay his bare head against the cool metal. Around him was utter silence.

The AMADDS looked mournful yet reserved in their expressions. He figured they had probably lost people just now as well.

The ODSTs remained hidden behind their visors as they stared out the window, back in the direction of North Camden Station.

Duncan spotted Zack sitting on the opposite side with his helmet already off, allowing him to see his bloodred face. He pulled his legs in close to his chest. He raked his hands through his hair for a moment, then pressed them against his head and started to cry.

Nova took off her own helmet as she sat down beside him. She pulled him in close and held him, letting him sob on her breastplate. She looked up at the ceiling lights with watering eyes and a quivering lip yet didn't let her pain be heard.

The Staff was already sitting on a seat nearby without his helmet, watching it all with heavy eyes. He saw Deaks and Rico enter the compartment running. They stopped once they saw Zack and Nova.

Joels strode in front of him and pulled off his helmet. He stared at his comrade for several long seconds, as if trying to gauge him for the truth. The Staff swallowed, nodded, and said nothing else. At length Joels shook his head again. He sat down on the opposite seat and held his head in his hands.

Duncan didn't want to see any more. He closed his eyes. A moment later he was unconscious.

De Profundis – From the Depths


	24. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 5 (Deceptio)

Chapter 5 - Deceptio

September 16th, 2544 (04:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Matin Province, Continent of Vitre

Misriah Armory Weapon's Production and Storage Site 'La Grotte'

:********:

The tram was no longer an option.

With North Camden station compromised, the only available avenue was a convoy system of 18-wheelers carrying Misriah's equipment. The Captain would've seen the funny side of that, Duncan thought. And maybe she was doing just that in some distant afterlife, seeing the funny side. He tried not to think about it too much, but the loss of 1-Actual and every trooper in Squad Eagle was weighing down on the collective soul of 1st platoon. It registered in the way they wordlessly prepared with long stares whenever it was time for another delivery run. They would cling to the handlebars on the containers of the tractor trailers bussing down the highway towards the Starport. The stars in the night sky weren't always constant. From time to time they would watch one move across the firmament and fire a MAC round into another, destroying the 'star'. Everything looked the same from the ground. It was probably different for the Navy holding position over the West, buying time for the forces fighting on the surface. The ODSTs would be joining the latter soon.

There were no further incidents. They had started finishing up the last of the deliveries from La Grotte including most of the site's work personnel in the last 2 days. Now on the third day since what happened at the station, they had wrapped things up.

Squads Epsilon and Echo stood outside the Transit Station. The rest of the grounds around them were mostly abandoned. The streets that bustled with workers and delivery trucks were almost empty save for crates and ditched utility trucks. The buildings were dark. All was quiet, and so were the troopers as they stood waiting for their rides.

One of the transit building's front doors opened and Stewards stepped out. He was unarmed except for a model black M6A Magnum holstered on his thigh. His sleepy eyes went unaccompanied by his characteristic smile. The troopers watched him walk up to the Staff.

He looked him over in his armor with a hint of respect. "You guys were good out there. We may not have become friends but I can at least say that you're tough as hell. And I can also say the same for your Captain." He extended his hand. "It's been an honor."

The Staff depolarized his visor. He scrutinized the gesture and the man offering it. Then his expression softened. He took the hand and shook.

"Same to you, Stewards."

Stewards looked him over again. "I guess…you're the leader of 1st platoon now, Staff Sergeant."

For a second the Staff didn't know how to respond. Then the reverberation of multiple vehicles caught everyone's attention. They spotted the convoy of four troop carrier Warthogs speeding down the road towards them.

Stewards patted him on the shoulder and walked back to the transit building as the Hogs pulled in. He briefly waved back without turning around as he walked through the door, disappearing into the darkened interior.

The worker personnel that had brought the vehicles stepped out to give them access.

The Staff took in a deep breath. "1st Platoon, load up."

On his order the two squads hopped into the Hogs. They took one last look at the transit building then followed the Staff's lead Hog in turning around and driving down the road, heading for the gates.

:********:

Footsteps echoed through the desolate hallways of the Transit Station's interior as Stewards made his way through them. Occasionally the throngs of tossed filing papers would crackle under his boots. He stopped halfway into the room and spotted the Assistant Manager.

Roman was sitting in one of the lounge chairs with two MPs standing beside him. He heard Stewards coming and peered over his shoulder at him, looking somewhat surprised.

"Ah, Captain, I thought you already left."

"I wouldn't worry about me." Stewards said. "What about you? You're not getting any security on this mission except these MPs. With respect, that's not a security guarantee, not like if you were going with us."

Roman sighed. "Nothing's a guarantee these days." He leaned forward, lost in some distant thought. "I've had some time to think on this. I figured after what happened at the station that you, your men and the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers have lost enough on my account. I'll manage with the MPs. They have to count for something at least."

"Do they?" Stewards glanced at the two Military Police. They were both fairly young men, perhaps fresh out of whatever inner colony bootcamp had churned them out. There weren't many old heads around these days. It was mainly the youths fighting the war that their parents had fought while they were on swing sets in kindergarten. It was easy to think of it as a generational curse since those who came after lost in even greater ways than those who came before, those who'd died back when there were still outer colonies. Stewards briefly wondered what UNSC personnel would think that died early on in the conflict if they saw what humanity had been shorn down to today. Maybe they would think their sacrifices were worth something, or maybe they would think they had only delayed the inevitable. In earlier times, Stewards would've fluctuated between which he thought was right. Nowadays he didn't have such uncertainties.

"Sounds like you have some remorse."

"Remorse? Yes, among other things."

"You don't seem too worried about actually making it out of here. Survivor's guilt perhaps?"

Roman gave an amused laugh. "You could use that as a motto for a recruitment drive and probably get twice the number of volunteers from the inner-colonies than what happened with Cole." He got up onto his feet. His breathing became beleaguered.

"I was supposed to retire this year." He said, catching his breath. "As you can see, I'm no longer fit to be running the planetary branch of a major intersystem enterprise. Don't get me wrong, I'm not suicidal, but people don't need an old man who can barely stand up on his own two legs without getting winded. If I live, alright then. If I don't, Misriah can just use my retirement pension to put more rifles into the hands of capable soldiers like these two." He gestured to the MPs. "No, I wouldn't call it survivor's guilt. I haven't survived anything. However, I am guilty of sending people to places where they couldn't."

Stewards understood where he was coming from. He spoke his mind. "You should've paid the ODSTs."

Roman winced. "Pardon?"

"They more than deserved compensation." Stewards pressed.

The Assistant Manager shook his head. "As much as I hate what all of this led up to, the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers are a part of the UNSC, the very same UNSC that offered us near-unconditional assurance to protect our assets in exchange for producing them."

"You're saying they were just doing their jobs?" Stewards asked, sounding more like he was making a statement than asking a question.

His face hardened. His sleepy eyes bore into the man before him. "I only lost five of my men. The ODSTs lost far more than that, including their leadership. But we're being paid for what we're doing. Those troopers? They're doing it because they were ordered to. Even if it wasn't legal the gesture would've counted for something, at least more than a handshake and a nice farewell. And one more thing, if the UNSC had offered 'near unconditional' assurance to protect you, then why am I here right now?"

Roman stood speechless. So were the MPs standing by his side who were trying to avoid giving the impression that they were listening. At length, the Assistant Manager's gaze fell to the floor in defeat. "Perhaps the gesture...would have counted for something."

Their attention was pulled away from each other as the loud burbling engines of an 18-wheeler came to ear, coming to a halt outside the transit building. One of Stewards' men comm'd him. "Ready when you are, sir."

"I'm on my way."

Roman offered his hand. "Thank you for your service, Captain."

Stewards looked him over. "Is the means of evacuation for me and my guys still in place?"

Roman nodded. "The freighter is already waiting for you at the Vers L'avant, as promised. It will drop you off at Minister."

Stewards nodded back. He shook his hand, then tightened his grip. "Get yourself a ride out of here, Roman. Live a long life and actually do something with it that won't make you want to give it all up once you retire."

Roman winced again. Stewards left him like that. He strode out of the transit building and up to the side of the tractor trailer. The rest of his guys were riding using the handlebars to hold onto the side of the container.

The Captain grabbed a handlebar like the rest of his men and hung on. Then they were off, passing through the gates of La Grotte. Not one of them looked back as the facility grounds fell behind them and sunk out of sight beneath the predawn horizon.

:********:

New Memphis had changed in many ways in the last two weeks from what Duncan remembered. There were definitely a lot more destroyed buildings than last time he'd been here. Ashened apartment complexes lay half-crumbling, their concrete guts spilling out into the streets and forming roadblocks. It forced the convoy to reroute more and more the further east they went.

They came across sights of finished firefights that had raged across the city days earlier. The smoking wrecks of Scorpion Tanks and Warthogs were joined by blown-open Wraiths and the smoldering remains of the ground assault craft known as Ghosts. Dead Covenant soldiers lay where they had died, often opposite the positions of fallen UNSC Marines. There were civilians as well, a significant number that were caught in the crossfire. They did their best to drive around the bodies but it wasn't always possible.

Duncan kept his eyes up since he was in the passenger section of the Lead Hog. He swept his rifle from left to right, checking the rooftops and windows of passing buildings. While this area was already secured by the UNSC, no one was ready to take any chances, not after what happened to Squad Eagle.

So far, they had another three kilometers before they would regroup with Bravo Company

"Think Yuri's waiting for us already?" Duncan asked.

The Staff shrugged as he piloted them around a rubble-filled roundabout. "If I know Matchstick, and I do, he's not waiting for us. He doesn't wait for anyone. I doubt he even knows what that means."

Duncan nodded, and like the rest of 1st platoon, remained silently alert as they drove through the streets.

:********:

Forward Operating Base Gamma served as the provisional field headquarters for the 211th Marines. Only two kilometers west of the De Gaulle Starport, the multi-story building was originally a branch of the inter-colonial Freighter Insurance Company 'FarDelta'. Half of the affiliated sign on top of the building was missing with the other half left scorched by plasma fire.

Lieutenant Colonel Garrison considered it as the least of the damage compared to the structure's multitude of blown out windows and walls that crumbled in places. Yet somehow it wasn't damaged enough to stop it from being used for today's meeting.

Garrison sat in one of several seats surrounding a brown oakwood table in a conference room. He took note of the flickering lights overhead. Four days ago, the Covenant had started targeting the Matin Province's primary Electrical Grids and Power Plants. The 211th's 5th and 7th Battalions along with elements from the 53rd Armored Division were struggling to hold what infrastructure they could outside of New Memphis. But the Covenant's attention was slowly shifting from the East to the West. At this point it was obvious to anyone and everyone that Miridem's time was running out. Now Garrison and the two other officers in the room with him were about to be responsible for what would likely be the last major action taken by UNSC personnel on the planet.

The lights dipped again then returned to full brightness, highlighting the solemn faces of the officers in charge of the respective units.

Sitting opposite Garrison was Colonel Akono Mentieth, the UNSC Army Colonel in charge of the 53rd Armored Division. He was a man of darker complexion with a strong stature and looked somewhere in his late forties or early fifties. He wore a crisp army uniform with the corresponding Diamond and Chevron insignia to prove the rank. Both he and the men and women under his command had been fighting on Miridem since day one. They knew the situation on the ground better than anyone else.

"Are you certain there's no other way to penetrate their defenses?" He asked, sizing up the 3-dimensional projection in the middle of the table. The hologram was emitted from a built-in holotank and depicted the city block surrounding the De Gaulle Starport. Mentieth pointed to the streets, more specifically at the red dots that patrolled the air above them.

"Considering their maneuverability, those squadrons could easily use the sharp corners for evasion tactics and the long streets for attack runs. It's still tall order for anyone we send in, even if they are just a diversion."

"There's few if any other options save a high-end frontal assault." The speaker sat perpendicular to the first two. As far as rank went, he was the second most powerful person left in the Ulterin System, the man in charge of all ground operations: Major General Andrei Horvath. Though solely in charge of the 211th Marines at first, the deteriorating state of affairs planetside led to the ground command being passed down to him. He wore Marine Corps fatigues and sported the two silver stars of his rank on his shoulder. He ran a hand through his regulation-length dirty blonde hair to smooth it down. He looked at least ten years younger than Mentieth and Garrison himself, but authority overruled seniority here.

"We knocked out most of their airpower when we took the west side of the city. These are only smaller craft occupying these streets as an outer defense and early warning system. Using units from your 53rd to form pockets within these patrolled areas will help gather the Covenant craft into places where we can corner them."

"Like catching flies with honey." Garrison stated.

Horvath considered the idiom. "Yes, something like that. And that's where you come in Garrison." The hologram switched to an overhead view of that section of the city. As it did, the projection played out, showing multiple yellow dots entering the block from all sides.

"Your Alpha and Bravo Companies will head in first to setup anti-aircraft killzones. Then armored columns from the 53rd will drive up and stop within these killzones. They're too good as targets for the Covenant to pass up. Like you say, they'll be like flies to honey."

The yellow dots were then joined by a dozen yellow rectangles driving down the streets and coming to a stop, surrounded by the friendly contacts. The spray of red-colored entities around the block then flocked towards them like iron fillings to a magnet. One by one the crimson dots disappeared.

Mentieth rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's…risky. The troopers will have to be in position well in advance of the armored columns."

"But if they manage to pull it off then we'll have an opening to the Starport." Horvath pointed out.

Garrison folded his arms across his chest. "My troopers will be in place, no doubts about it. They'll get the job done."

"We'll be counting on it." At Horvath's words the hologram focused on the Starport. It was a C-shaped building whose two-kilometer length was resized to a hundred centimeters. There was a dome at the structure's central radius and along its circumference were uniformed bulges that were refueling stations. There were thirty on both the North and South Wings, sixty in all. It would be enough to fuel a fleet of starships, and the intention was to do just that.

"If we pull it off, we can commence the breakout against the enemy armor surrounding the De Gaulle. First we'll have a targeted strike via Longswords on those in the west"

The hologram highlighted four semicircles of a dozen red dots each. They occupied the Starport Apron surrounding the building and acted as a second layer of defense. Several yellow arrowheads suddenly zoomed past and one of the sectors of the defensive line disappeared.

Mentieth arched an eyebrow. "You're willing to risk an ASGM payload delivery that close to the Starport? Not to discredit your plans sir, but if even one of those hits a fuel-line, it could light up a refueling station, and if just one of those goes off, the chain reaction could-"

"It won't." A quaint female voice interrupted. Mentieth and Garrison both looked around for the source of the voice when it spoke again. "Requesting permission to materialize, Major General."

"Granted."

A glint of light appeared on the holotank. A figure slowly emerged from just above the Starport. The image of a blonde teenage girl dressed in 13th century French armor arose. She stood gallantly with a sword in hand. Garrison thought the halo glowing behind her head was a bit much. She reminded him of Will, Falchion's resident AI. He remembered how Mr. Green fashioned himself after Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Now here was this one who looked like a guardian angel. He briefly wondered what AI's fascination was with Earth's historical figures pre-interstellar expansion.

"Good morning gentlemen." She quipped, sounding energetic. "My name is Joan. I am the local Smart AI in charge of the day-to-day management of the De Gaulle Starport, and I can assure you that a targeted strike on this area will not harm any structures."

She waved her hand over the projection of the Starport, causing it to shimmer. Then a network of root-like fuel pipes appeared running underground from the surrounding area, beneath the Starport apron and to the refueling stations which lit up like nodes along the De Gaulle's circumference.

"I've already turned off the pipes within the calculated blast radius and drained them of fuel. That way we avoid any such chain reactions."

This time it was Garrison's turn to raise an eyebrow. He looked to the Major General. "How did you get the Starport's AI here? Wouldn't her core be-"

Joan interrupted. "Behind enemy lines? No. My core was extracted to an armored matrix prior to the Starport's fall into enemy hands. However, I was able to successfully drain each refueling station and shutdown every single fuel-line as a precaution before my extraction. This way any combat surrounding my castle would not accidentally bring about its destruction."

"Castle?" Garrison wondered if she was a bit too invested in whatever roleplay she was involved with. "So, you're saying there's no risk to the station?"

"Indeed." Joan said matter-of-factly. "I personally assure you, no, I guarantee that-"

Horvath cut her off. "Thank you, Joan. That'll be all for now."

Joan blushed red but saluted like a soldier. "I apologize for my ramblings, my Lord. I will sign off for the time-being and leave you to your briefing."

The Major General gave her a thankful nod and watched her avatar wink off. He sighed. "She's a lively one, I'll give her that." He pointed to the hologram, causing it to resume. A hail of yellow dots and rectangles on one side of the encompassing cityscape began attacking at the area cleared by the Longswords, causing scores of enemy armor from other sectors to pour in, attempting to contain the breach.

"The Covenant and any infantry they have will likely see our push from the west and come running to secure that area. That'll leave other sectors vulnerable. From there I'll have my 1st and 2nd Battalions pincer through those positions spearheaded by the 53rd Armored. We'll surround the remaining ground forces and finish them off, then form a layered defense around the perimeter."

The hologram showed just that with bars of yellow moving in on the Starport from the North and South. They crossed over the De Gaulle then swiveled back West against the last red positions like a door on its hinges.

"That's all there is to it gentlemen. We capture the Starport, then we'll bring in Joan to get it up and operational again."

Garrison nodded. "We can manage that."

"It's feasible." Mentieth acknowledged. "It'll be no easy task but if we can hold it long enough, we may be able to save a significant amount of the population…assuming the situation in space doesn't deteriorate faster than we can act."

"Tursk has things relatively stabilized over the Western Hemisphere." Horvath said. "While there are a few minor skirmishes, the bulk of the Covenant forces are too preoccupied with the East."

Garrison knew that 'preoccupied' was a very watered-down way to say they were glassing it. A planet didn't have to be fully under their control for the Covenant to commence an orbital bombardment. Whatever territory they gained; they saw swiftly to its destruction. They were like little children with a lollipop in hand who didn't understand the concept of delayed gratification, only that too was a gross oversimplification of them as a threat. And if it were true, what did that say about humanity since they were losing to them.

The name Tursk also stuck out. Ahead of Horvath, Vice Admiral Tursk was the most important person left in the system. Earlier in the week he'd consolidated the remnants of the 12th and 15th Naval Expeditionary Fleets as well as the Reach QRF into a single Fleet under his command. Right about now they were probably busy trying to keep the Covenant fleet from expanding its hold over the planet, and if that was no longer possible, then to delay them.

Horvath continued. "The Vice Admiral is going to need the Starport open in order to ensure the evacuation. As you know, 70% of the remaining population have yet to be cleared and have been waiting for a rendezvous point to do so without having to risk being shot down from orbit. We have to grant them that window either today or not at all. Failure is not an option here. You'll have an hour to organize and brief your units, then we move out. You're dismissed gentlemen."

:********:

Captain Stewards strode with quiet swiftness across the B-deck of the Parabola Class freighter, Mayweather. The ship had left the Vers L'avant Starport less than half an hour earlier laden with the last shipment of La Grotte's weapon and vehicle caches. The trip through the atmosphere wasn't too bad. Thankfully, the Navy were still holding their own against the Covenant, giving the ship the opportunity to escape what was a closing trap. He looked out a passing window and spotted the far-off flashes of yellow and blue light in the distant upper atmosphere. The fighting was predominantly near where the planetary time demarcation line intersected the equator. He was grateful that the ship was headed in the opposite direction towards the Northern pole. He was also grateful for the ship itself.

He passed through an open door and entered a wide mess hall. The room was quiet. He navigated his way through the labyrinth of blood-soaked tables, ignoring the bullet-riddled bodies of the several dozen dead crewmembers still sitting in their seats, their hands and faces buried in the very same breakfast that they had been eating. He didn't spare them a glance because he knew how thorough his men could be. There was no reason to worry about survivors, not where the AMADDS were concerned.

Less than five minutes ago he had left from the hanger bay after giving the order for his men to wipe out the Mayweather's crew. He'd waited until everyone was in place first: Teams 1 and 2 at the ship's two hangers, Team 3 at the Mess Hall, and Team 4 at Engineering. The goal was to get rid of the dead weight onboard and only to keep essential personnel that were vital to the Mayweather's functioning like engineers. HVI's were another concern. If they found anyone that could be deemed as High Value Individuals, they could be used as future "negotiating tools". That was the word that his commanding officer preferred to use since it sounded more refined than hostages, which Stewards personally preferred out of practicality. However, at the moment he was somewhat disappointed with himself.

He thought it over as he made his way up a flight of stairs onto A-deck and realized that it was the missed opportunity in the form of Roman. The man was the perfect hostage: weak life convictions, meaning he could be easily manipulated, out-of-shape, meaning he wasn't much of a threat, and relatively high-ranking in Misriah, meaning a high ransom. Stewards knew it was only a chance to convince him to join the AMADDS on the Mayweather, and though he'd failed, he was secretly somewhat relieved that he had. While his job compelled him to take him as a hostage, he couldn't help empathizing with the man. His disillusioned view of the world and his place in it was one he had seen time and time again, and it was often the face of the men and women that he chose to recruit into their ranks. It hit too close to home. So he simply used the fact that Roman was about to retire as a means of throwing the idea out entirely. After all, who'd really pay a ransom for someone they were about to lose anyway?

Stewards was on his way up to Team 5 on the bridge. He came out onto a hallway and spotted two of his men standing guard at the door on the far end. They nodded to him as he walked past and the doors slid open to let him through.

The bridge was a pentagonal room with a viewport running its full length. Various stations occupied each side. The officers who had once occupied those stations were now having their limp bodies removed from their seats and piled up near the door. His AMADDS were occupying those seats in turn and getting the ship ready for a slipspace jump.

Stewards' attention drifted to the captain's chair in the room's center and the man that stood beside it. He wore the overalls accustomed to a Misriah employee, although its gray coloring singled him out from the others. So did the way he stood proud and seemed to glower at Stewards despite the nozzle of the MA5B being pushed up against his temple.

The gun's owner, Team 5's leader, was actively shouting death threats into his ears that he promised to fulfill if he didn't get on his knees. He eventually got him to submit by pressing the barrel far enough into his jaw and staring him down unwaveringly. Team 5's leader turned to his Captain. "We got one for you sir, an HVI."

Stewards sighed. He knew what came next, what always came next. Still his naturally sleepy eyes and honest smile held on his face. Diplomacy would have to win out if he wanted the answers he needed.

"How are you?" He asked

The man glared up at him and spat on the floor at his feet. "You'll never take this ship. It's not meant for marauders and pirates like yourselves. I'll sooner see it destroyed than in your hands."

Stewards' smile never wavered. He remained gentle. "Are you the Captain?"

"What's it to you?" He hissed then stood up defiantly, ignoring the growing threats from Team 5's leader. The rest of the team, meanwhile, remained preoccupied with manning the ship.

"I'm only asking as a passenger right now."

The man gritted his teeth. "Yes, I am. And 'who' might you be that you think you can so brazenly-"

Stewards whipped out his M6A in a flash and shot a single round between his eyes before he could even flinch. The former Captain of the Mayweather reeled back from the impact, slammed his head against the back of his chair and slumped to the floor.

Stewards' honest smile never wavered. He watched the blood begin to pool on the floor and stepped over it on his way to the Captain's chair. "Someone clean this up."

Team 5's leader sighed. "I thought you'd want him as a hostage, sir."

"No one's going to pay for a no-name Captain of a no-name ship, especially the UNSC." Stewards sat down in the chair, switched to his comms and checked-in with the other teams. Their leaders reported back that they had secured their objectives and were combing the ship for any stragglers, all except Team 4 who were staying to protect the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine located in Engineering. They would need to protect it when considering what was to come next, what always came next.

"You know the drill people. We'll do a random jump first then return to headquarters."

"You sound like a real Navy officer, sir." One of the new 'bridge officers' joked. "Next thing you know we'll be wiping NAV data for a protocol that doesn't even protect us, just the people that hate us."

"We're not about to lead the Covenant back home." Stewards corrected, though he understood the funny side of that comparison. "Plot the course and get us underway."

"Ay-ay, sir."

Stewards reclined in the chair and looked out the viewport at the surface of Miridem. They'd gotten what they came for, far more than what they'd been paid with at least. That was how it always went and would always go, for however long this war would rage, until the UNSC reached the end of its own tenacity and faced a final oblivion.

He almost felt a sense of connection to the world, not to its people, but to the troopers undoubtedly still on it.

Two weeks is a long-time in the life expectancy of any person on the frontlines, perhaps enough to grow a measure of intrigue and maybe even concern in who you were fighting alongside. He admired their willingness to stay here and keep fighting, but not so much as to do it himself.

Team 5's leader began the countdown from his station. "Entering slipspace in five, four, three…"

Stewards looked at Miridem one last time and wished to the ODSTs of 1st platoon a quiet "Good luck". Then the planet disappeared from view as the Mayweather entered the deep void of slipspace.

Deceptio – Deception


	25. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 6 (Occultatum)

Chapter 6 - Occultatum

September 16th, 2544 (06:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Matin Province, Continent of Vitre

Provincial Capital of New Memphis, near De Gaulle Starport

:********:

1st Platoon sprinted under the shadows of buildings along Dreyfus Boulevard just a kilometer North of the De Gaulle. They moved in pairs. One hefted a SPANKR while another carried a case of extra rocket ammo. Like the rest of Bravo and Alpha Company, their boots made little sound as they moved under the pink skies.

The sun was slowly beginning to peek over the western horizon at their backs, glittering off the windows of New Memphis' buildings, reminding them that their time was running low. With only five minutes left until the 53rd Armored rolled in, the Staff Sergeant ordered everyone to double-time it.

"How much farther, Ep-1?" Nova asked, fighting to balance the weight of the ammo crate on her shoulders.

"One hundred meters."

A far-off rurring sound caught everyone's attention. Squad Echo was moving a few meters ahead of Epsilon with Sergeant Joels leading, carrying two SPANKRs across his shoulders with ease. The Sergeant perked his head up and spotted the noise's source.

"Banshees. Type-26Bs."

The platoon tensed.

"Numbers?" The Staff asked.

"Three, 100 meters south and closing fast."

"Ditch the road 1st platoon."

The platoon flashed their acknowledgement lights and silently rushed off the sidewalks. The Staff kicked in the door to a Havadi Goodwin restaurant and Epsilon followed him inside. Next door, Joels barreled through the gate of a law firm's front plaza and Echo disappeared within.

Duncan crouched down in one of the dinner-table alcoves lining the restaurant's walls. He heard someone slink down next to him and glanced over. It was Yuri. The trooper was leaning up against the ammo casing he was carrying. He nodded at Duncan, peeked out the window and sighed explosively over team comms. "Razve my ne mozhem ikh prosto sbit'?"

"No, we're not in position yet." Nova replied.

Yuri grumbled to himself in dissatisfaction.

Duncan could tell he was ready for action. The ODST had spent the last two weeks either recovering or with a different squad. Earlier in the first week he'd received a successful transplant of a section of flash-cloned lung to replace the damage done to his right one. He'd managed to survive the rejection period using daily therapy sessions of the muscular reconstructive drug Nandrolone II and watered-down Waverly-class augmentors known as Rumbledrugs, both of which he told them made him feel like a 'tank'. Within a few days and perhaps one too many corticosteroid-enthused pick-me-ups later, he was up and operational. He'd spent the last week and a half with Alpha Company's 2nd platoon filling in a vacancy on Squad Razor. While the doctors told him that they weren't able to remove a few spike fragments buried in his diaphragm and that he would have to live with them for the rest of his life, Yuri didn't seem phased in the least. He didn't mind coming within a hair's breadth of death, and after reuniting with 1st platoon earlier this morning, the Russian was itching to make the Covenant come within a hair's breadth of himself.

"Sit tight people." The Staff said. "Here they come."

The low rurring noise came closer.

Outside, a purple aircraft appeared. Its bulbous front vaguely reminded Duncan of a beluga whale. It had a curved reflective cowling and two wing canards with gravity propulsion drives. It glided less than twenty meters above the street, leaving blue trails of vaporous exhaust in its wake. It zoomed back North. Two more appeared following it down the street. They flew another hundred meters down Dreyfus Boulevard then turned a corner, disappearing from sight.

"Let's move."

Epsilon rushed back out onto the sidewalk and joined Echo further up. The platoon slipped from shadow to shadow until they covered the last 100 meters.

Up ahead was a large intersection between Dreyfus Boulevard and an adjoined Parisii Boulevard: their killzone.

The troopers looked across the intersection and spotted their counterparts of Alpha Company's 2nd Platoon moving up on the opposite side to their target building. The Staff gave them a thumbs up.

2nd Platoon's Captain Ortega returned the gesture. He spoke over comms. "Let's get it done, Ep-1."

"Likewise, 2-Actual."

The Staff dropped a Nav-Marker on the top floor of 1st platoon's target building off to their left. While everyone else stacked up on either side, Joels got a running start and rammed his full weight through the front door, knocking it clear off its hinges. They piled inside behind him.

They entered the ground level lounge and split up into their squads to ascend two off-branching staircases. After passing ten stories Epsilon reached the service door leading onto the rooftop. The palisading wall surrounding the square rim would be the perfect cover. Beyond it they could see the cityscape and the central dome of the Starport in the distance.

The squad split up to occupy the two sides that would give them the best vantage point over the intersection. All the while Echo setup shop on the top floor beneath them. Though Epsilon would have the best overall command position, they would also be the most vulnerable. Echo would act as their insurance policy of carrying on the mission from the top floor in the scenario that Epsilon was wiped out.

Duncan didn't like to think about that fact for obvious reasons. Banshees were known to be highly maneuverable and thrived in close combat conditions. This was going to be his first time taking one down. He checked his HUD and kept an eye on the number '2' above the light-blue launcher symbol in the upper-right corner. He'd have to make each one count.

The Russian sitting next to him popped open his ammo case, revealing the ten other rockets nestled inside.

"Don't worry rookie." Yuri said, cracking his neck. "Just don't miss." He held up his hands. "You take SPANKR and you spank Banshee with it, like this." He slapped his hands together "See? No sweats."

"No sweat." Duncan corrected. "It's no sweat."

"See, that's the spirit."

Duncan couldn't help laughing a little. He had to admit Yuri was a lot more perceptive than he gave him credit for. He'd figured out what he was worried about without even seeing his face.

"Oh." Yuri set a hand on his shoulder. "If you die, don't worry. I take tags and SPNAKR so I don't die."

Duncan's smile fell.

"Time's up." The Staff said. "The 53rd's moving in right about now. They'll be here in about five minutes so hold tight."

"It's about to get a little less quiet around here." Hector exhaled, shifting his launcher onto the lip of the wall.

"Oh really?" Yuri's voice oozed sarcasm. "Why you think that, big guy?"

"'Cause you're here. I doubt you're gonna shut up if you can help it."

"Why don't we let rockets do all talking, huh? Unless you think you no good."

Hector spared him a sidelong glance. "Sure pal."

"It's good to have you back, Match." Rico said, popping his Grenade Launcher open and slipping a 40-millimeter grenade into the chamber. "It was getting too quiet around here anyway." He snapped the weapon closed.

Yuri didn't answer right away, not like he usually did. There was a palpable hesitation in his voice. "It's...good to have you guys back, really."

Everyone could feel what he was thinking. They had had to tell him what happened at the station after they linked up with him at the Marines' FOB. There was no reaction from him save for a small loosening in his furrowed brow and clenching of his teeth. He didn't show any other reaction, not visibly, but the fact he was still his fiery self did much to raise everyone else' spirits. While they had lost the Captain, they had at least gotten Yuri back. They weren't a full platoon but they were at least a full squad now. That had to count for something.

Soon they heard the roar of multiple vehicle engines.

The first part of the column to appear were the Warthogs, six of them. Two were Troop Carriers ferrying a squad of Marines. The other four bore manned LAAG's whose gunners kept an eye on the skies as they drove down Parisii Boulevard from the west. Four Scorpion Tanks rolled in behind them, each baring the 53rd's insignia of a flaming scorpion just below their cannons which swiveled from one point in the sky to another.

The convoy drove in single file and occupied the intersection. The tanks maneuvered back-to-back at the center, each of the four sitting with their cannons focused down one end of a boulevard. The Marines, armed with SPANKRs, dismounted from their troop carriers and took up positions behind their Hogs. The four Turret Hogs setup shop on the four roadways, forming a vehicle blockade around the intersection. With their LAAGs aimed up at the airways and the ODSTs providing overwatch, they were effectively ready for anything.

One of the Scorpions aimed into the air and fired a smoke signal. The signal shot up 200 meters before exploding in a puff of green smoke that would be visible from kilometers away.

Across the block, other smoke signals shot into the sky. Duncan counted 15 in total including theirs, all of which surrounded the De Gaulle. While 12 were green, 3 were red meaning they were already engaging the enemy. Though their primary purpose was to inform their unit commander that they were in place, they served the dual purpose of getting the attention of local hostile forces.

"Banshees inbound, 50 meters out." Deaks said, spotting them first. The squad turned their attention down Parisii Boulevard East and saw the four banshees. Two were approaching above the street while two more flew over the surrounding buildings.

The Warthog gunner stationed there started up a steady stream of heavy caliber fire on the lower two while one of the Scorpions tracked the higher duo.

"Leave it to Razor." The Staff said. "We're managing our own corners." The squad stood down, watching as concentrated LAAG fire tore into one Banshee and birthed purple-white flames along its canopy. The craft responded with bursts from its duel plasma turrets as it boosted along with an audible HEP. The Scorpion's cannon thundered in reply. The targeted banshee blew into a ball of burning debris and azure flames. Its brother craft accelerated up to join the other two.

From the top of an adjacent building, Squad Razor fired a combined barrage of ten SPANKR rockets that angled upwards to meet the incoming trio. Two of them flew apart in fiery detonations as the rockets slammed into them. The third managed to aileron roll to the side to avoid a deadly quartet that zipped past.

"Three more coming down Dreyfus North, 65 meters out." Rico called. Epsilon's rocketeers shifted over to that side of the building and saw the Banshees boosting down the boulevard towards the intersection.

Before the Staff could give an order, Echo-3 chimed in. "Four more coming down on Dreyfus South, 70 meters out."

"Got seven pushing up over Parisii West, over." Echo-5 reported.

"Three more on Parisii East." Deaks added. "It's getting hot out here."

Duncan peeked over his shoulder and spotted Banshees flying in from every direction.

The Staff Sergeant and Sergeant Joels dished out orders quickly. Duncan focused on the former.

"Ep-4 and 6, take care of Parisii East. Ep-8, you're with me."

Hector and Rico ran to the other side to face the threat at Parisii East while Duncan came up next to the Staff and focused on the three Banshees zooming towards them from Dreyfus North. The warbling screech of their engines sent a shiver down his spine. He forced himself to ignore it.

Then as if fate sought to spite him, two more Banshees rolled onto the boulevard from two adjoining streets to join the other three. Duncan felt a lump swell in his throat. He grasped the bracing handle with his left hand and flexed the index of his right over the trigger.

"Ep-8 take the upper-left one. I'll take the upper-right. On my mark."

Two seconds passed, enough time for their SPANKRs to give a corresponding beep, confirming a lock-on.

"Mark!"

They fired synchronously, pulling their triggers twice to send out four rockets that hissed through the air towards the encroaching squadron. The five Banshees began to split up. There was the thunder of cannon fire and one of the craft exploded as a 105-millimeter shell punched through it, courtesy of the boulevard's guardian Scorpion. Two more tried barreling out of the way. The rockets tracked them and slammed into their sides. While one erupted into fire and smoke, the other carried on despite the flames raging on its canopy. It boosted forward, its engine screeching while it trailed fumes, invoking the image of a vengeful spirit seeking out its aggressor. What Duncan hated the most was that it was the one he'd aimed at, and it was coming straight for him.

Suddenly a sniper round speared through the craft's left canard with pin-point accuracy. The Banshee wobbled off balance then spiraled down forty meters before crashing into the road, detonating on impact.

Duncan glanced over at Deaks who had crouched down beside him with rifle in hand.

"Thanks for the assist Ep-3, now get back to your position." The Staff said, reloading his launcher.

Deaks looked at Duncan, nodded then jogged away. "Make sure it's a kill shot next time, hey Irish?"

"Will do." Duncan took a knee to reload then stood back up, a little shaken but ready. There were still two Banshees left only 30 meters away.

"Again." The Staff said. Duncan took aim at the one on the left. They waited until their lock-on's were both primed. "Mark!"

They fired simultaneously. Four more rockets flew straight and true to their targets. The Banshees failed to dodge as they received a one-two punch of explosions to their hulls that ripped them to pieces. Duncan felt a slight rush at seeing the one he was aiming at turn into a small sun. He had to admit, it was a little satisfying.

More explosions around him caught his attention. On the floor below, Squad Echo shot out rockets that struck Banshees coming from every conceivable direction. The Banshees kept pouring towards the intersection regardless. Two got close enough to strafe the Turret Hog guarding Parisii East with plasma, killing the driver. One of the Banshees ignored the nuisance of the LAAG gunner peppering its front and fired a comet of green plasma before veering off. The torpedo struck the Hog and both the vehicle and its occupants turned into bits of burning flesh and flying debris.

A handful of Banshees broke through to the intersection from Parisii East. The Scorpions struggled to track the fast-moving craft with their cannons while their turret gunners stitched bullet holes through their hulls. The Marines armed with rocket launchers filled the skies with snaking exhaust trails that would occasionally swat a Banshee out of the sky or miss entirely.

Nova and Yuri quickly tossed over two more rockets each to the Staff and Duncan. They reloaded and turned to face the airborne threats now breaking out from Parisii West.

Duncan eyed a duo strafing one of the troop carriers and pinning down a Marine fireteam. One of the aircraft fell prey to a hyper-accurate Scorpion so he homed in on the second. He sent out two rockets that spiraled down. They struck the Banshee's rear like twin lightning bolts, the resulting explosion slicing it in two and sending its wing canards bouncing across the intersection.

Another one down.

"Rookie."

Duncan turned, grabbed the ammo Yuri was tossing out of the air and started popping them into his launcher, but it caused him to miss the rurring sound coming up from beneath.

A Banshee that had sneakily flew up the side of the building flipped into the air just a few meters in front of him. He spun to face it right as it fired a plasma torpedo mid-maneuver. He flinched and fired as well. Both torpedo and rocket collided in midair and detonated, creating a super-heated pressure wave that threw Duncan off his feet.

As he flew back, he felt time slow as adrenaline quickened his mind. He spotted the Banshee slowly recovering from its spin to face the building. He could also see the Staff and Yuri recoiling at the blast. He immediately understood that the craft had to be stopped from focusing on anyone else before they could react. He grabbed the MA37 on his back and took aim.

Time sped up again.

Duncan's back hit the floor. He skidded across the rooftop firing full auto at the Banshee. The attack craft turned his way, unleashing a torrent of blue plasma in return. As he slid to a stop, Duncan tucked his limbs close to his chest to present a smaller target, dodging several bursts that slashed at the concrete around him while firing back.

He bought enough time for Rico to get an angle on the Banshee. The ODST shot a single grenade that arced just over its canopy and released the trigger. The explosion's EMP effect knocked out its avionics and sent it into a freefall. A rocket from Hector gave it a devastating uppercut. As it tumbled away, The Staff who'd recovered got a chance to lock on. He loosed a final projectile that raced down after the paralyzed target like a viper darting after its prey. It struck, ripping the craft into pieces that spiraled down to the intersection below like fiery confetti.

Nova jogged over and pulled Duncan onto his feet. "You good?"

He shook his head to deal with the stars swarming his vision. He took a shaky step forward and nearly fell over. Nova caught him and threw one of his arms over her shoulders. "Ep-1, 8's a little winded."

The Staff spotted her helping him walk to the sidelines. "Copy. Ep-5, take his SPANKR."

Duncan heard the Russian laugh maniacally over comms. He looked back and saw him picking up his fallen rocket launcher. "Good job on last Banshee, rookie. At least you no die."

Duncan gave him a thumbs up. He couldn't bring himself to respond otherwise since his head still swam. Nova rested him against the far wall. She patted him on the shoulder then crouch-walked back to her position.

Regardless of his hazy vision, Duncan was able to peek over the wall at what was unfolding. Dozens of similar ground-to-air dogfights had erupted across the block. Scores of Banshees flew around in pockets across the area, hovering like flies over the wounds of a dying animal. A number strafed the ground while receiving machine gun and missile fire in response.

Duncan waited until he finally stopped feeling like he was swaying on the deck of a ship and got up. Since Yuri was on SPANKR duty, he slid over to his side, grabbed the ammo case and started tossing over rockets to him whenever he needed them.

The fighting on the intersection between Dreyfus and Parisii Boulevard went on for another ten minutes during which time a second wave of Banshees arose. One after another the ODST and Marine Rocketeers started running out of ammo. The bulk of the fighting fell to the Scorpions and Turret Hogs who kept up the fire on the invading assault crafts. Cannon fire obliterated some while concentrated ballistic impacts slowly killed others. That didn't stop a persistent trio of Banshees from getting close enough to deliver a barrage of plasma torpedoes at the tanks. One Scorpion had its rear-mounted cannon fly a dozen meters into the air as an explosion gusted through its frame, enveloping the turret gunner and immolating the driver in the cockpit. Another Scorpion managed to survive a direct hit that set parts of its canopy ablaze. It paid its aggressors back in spades, knocking two of them out. The third Banshee got too close to 1st platoon's building. A 105-millimeter shell missed its target and slammed into the structure.

The building shook.

"That was too close!" Zack yelled.

Rico fired a grenade at the escaping Banshee that bounced off its topside then detonated, shutting down the craft. It fell close enough for a Scorpion to spear through it with a cannon shell, finishing it off.

The ODSTs and surviving Marines kept their eyes on the sky. The air remained thankfully clear. Things were also clearing up across the block as more Banshees were shot down. After another five minutes the sounds of fighting faded away completely.

Deaks swiveled his rifle sites from one location to another. "Think it's over?"

The Staff took a look around for himself. "No, it's just getting started." He switched to team comms. "Ep-1 to 1st, grab your gear people, we're moving out."

:********:

With the surrounding block now secured, the way had been cleared to the Starport. Major General Horvath broadcasted the orders across SATCOM for all UNSC forces assigned to the mission to begin the assault. Both the 1st and 2nd Battalion of the 211th Marines pushed in, the 1st from the North and the 2nd from the South. Over a thousand Marines were on the move on either side, spearheaded by the bulk of the 53rd Armored Division's Tanks and Hogs.

1st Platoon watched 1st Battalion's Charlie Company come rolling down North Dreyfus Boulevard. They jogged in their platoons alongside Scorpion and Hog convoys that drove down the streetway.

The ODSTs got their hands on some ammo from several munition trucks. With their rifles and SPANKRs satisfactorily fed, the troopers hopped onto available Hogs. Those with rocket launchers, Duncan among them, loaded onto the passenger seats of Scorpions.

As they carried on along South Dreyfus, they caught sight of other armored columns and Marine companies moving down adjacent streets. There were other ODSTs as well, some on tanks and some in Hogs. Everyone was headed in the same direction.

Duncan sat in the rear-left passenger seat of a Tank with Rico, Hector and the Staff occupying the other three. He was focused on the way ahead when he heard something clamber up the back of the vehicle behind him. He looked and saw the backside of the squad's radioman as he climbed up the back of the tank onto the top of its rotational cannon. A cold uncertainty settled in his gut. "Uuugh, Ep-7?"

"Yeah?"

"You sure about that?"

Zack shifted over to peer down at him, no easy feat considering the hefty new radio he'd been issued upon their return to New Memphis. "Worry about yourself, Irish." He punctuated the statement by brandishing a SPANKR of his own.

"Where'd you-"

"Same place you got yours."

"…You sure that's okay for you to be up there?"

Zack skirted over to where he could see the open cockpit and the tank's helmeted driver. "Hey guy, is it okay for me to be up here?"

The Driver, a man with ruddy features and a helmet that read 'Marty' turned around. He looked confused at not initially spotting the one who asked the question, then winced at seeing Zack on the cannon. He gave a knowingly mischievous smile. "You should be good my guy, just mind the boom."

"Minding the boom, got it."

The Staff slowly turned and spotted Zack straddling the cannon like a cowboy on a horse. The latter gave him a thumbs up. The Staff simply turned back around and shook his head.

Everyone's attention shifted skyward as a squadron of five Longswords shot overhead, quickly followed up by two more squadrons all headed towards the Starport.

"Hit'em hard, flyboys!" Yuri cheered.

The squadron disappeared from sight. Ten seconds passed before several dozen consecutive booms rumbled through the city.

"Sounds like they're drilling the Covies." Hector noted.

The Staff nodded. "Let's find out."

The armored column kept pushing up the boulevard until they could see their destination.

The Starport Apron was a 4-square kilometer area of tarmac with an organized layout of crisscrossing runways, directional signages and four cylindrical air traffic control towers, one stationed in each of the four corners. At the center was the 2-kilometer long C-shaped building that was the mission's main focus.

What stood out to Duncan right away was the civilian starships, at least twenty in fact, that remained docked via telescopic boarding tubes to the De Gaulle. What wasn't so obvious was why they weren't on fire. Yet there was fire. A wall of flames several hundred meters long was raging on the western perimeter. He looked closer and spotted the blackened wrecks of multiple Wraiths acting as kindle wood.

Scorpion Tanks and Warthogs began streaming over the enflamed tarmac and passed the burning vehicles. More Wraiths who had been holding position on the north turned to face the breach.

Four important interstate highways hemmed in the Starport Apron like a picture frame. The elements of the 53rd Armored leading the 1st Battalion Marines ploughed over the guard rails of one of the highways. They drove over the lanes, continuing to run over more rails until they burst through to the other side, leaving openings for the Marines to filter through.

The tanks moved off the highway and ran over the perimeter fence to let their treads rumble across the concrete of the apron. Squads of Marines and ODSTs came right behind them, using them as shields.

A line of 12 Wraiths now stood between them and the Starport. The Tanks pushed forward, responding to the plasma mortars that rained down around them with cannon fire.

"Here we go." The Staff said.

Duncan watched a mortar strike the front of a Scorpion close by. The vehicle went up in flames as the 105mm rounds stored inside blew off the cannon and sent the bodies of the Marines onboard flying.

"Ep-4 and 6, hit the one on the right!" The Staff ordered. "Ep-8, we're dancing with the one on the left! Take'em out people!"

The ODSTs winked their acknowledgement lights and fired their SPANKRS in tandem with their tank's cannon.

The Wraith to their immediate left managed to fire off another mortar at them before a cannon-round punched its central canopy. Four additional rockets reduced it to an inferno. The driver named Marty maneuvered their Scorpion to the right to dodge one mortar then to the left to evade another. The second Wraith struggled to track their serpentine movements as a duo of rockets pounded its frame. It bled flames and coolant, although it boosted out of the way of the two follow-ups that snaked past, missing it entirely.

Hector and Rico were fighting to reload in time, Rico growling in frustration at the miss. The Wraith fired first. It was obvious by its trajectory that it had them dead to rights.

Marty throttled the accelerator and sent them speeding forward then swerving to the left. The mortar's shadow passed overhead then detonated harmlessly several meters away. He fired his cannon into the Wraith, pushing it back but not killing it.

"I got this one!" Zack said and loosed a rocket from above the cannon. The explosive caught one of the stabilizing fins, sending out a blast which spread like a rapid infection of flames that rippled through its structure until it burst through the central carriage, splitting it into two jagged halves. "That one's for kabobbing Matchstick!"

A duo of Banshees zoomed in from the skies, lining up for a bombing run. The tank operator angled his cannon up, forcing Zack to hold on one-handed as it fired a shell clean through the underbelly of one. The aircraft flew apart, damaging its partner with impacting debris. Zack sent a final rocket into the last Banshee that finished it off. "That one's for Eagle!"

"The way's clear." Marty said. "I'm pushing up."

They carried on past the burning Wraith.

Duncan was quietly hoping for a smooth ride from here on out. In the East he saw other Scorpions pushing across the tarmac through forests of burning Wraiths. The same thing unfolded over in the north as the 53rd and the Marines began breaking through the West on his right.

He wasn't paying attention to the last Wraith on his left.

It boosted toward a nearby Scorpion and fired a mortar into it, baking it in flames before ploughing through its frame like a hammer, killing its crew in the resulting blast. The Wraith's momentum carried it forward. Duncan pulled his legs in just before it crashed into them. He flew back against the tank and saw Zack thrown clear of the cannon.

"Zack!"

The radioman tumbled out of sight. The Wraith kept pushing until its boosters faded out. Duncan found himself staring down the glowing pedal-like opening of its energy mortar which still teamed with blue energy. He couldn't fire his SPANKR, not at this range. But neither could the Wraith, not without risking its own destruction. The Wraith's pilot must have understood that as well since it didn't fire. He could only give thanks that its turret gunner was missing, but the Scorpion's equivalent fired point-blank into its metallic hide.

The Scorpion slowly drove forward while simultaneously turning to face the target. For a moment it was a race to see who could get out of range of the other's blast radius and fire first.

Two rockets beat them to it, striking the Wraith's rear exhaust port. The fusillade smashed into the core component, rupturing its propulsion drive. The vehicle collapsed onto the ground then was ripped apart as a large conflagration pulled open its central chassis like the ribcage of a corpse.

Duncan looked around it and spotted Zack crouched a few meters away, the twin barrels of his SPANKR smoking. He stood up on his feet and yelled: "And that one's for the Captain!"

:********:

While the battle continued around the Starport, the Northern and Southern sectors were quickly secured. Still, the 53rd were having a hard time sandwiching the bulk of the Wraiths in the West near the bordering interstate highway.

The fighting left behind a graveyard of burning Scorpions, Warthogs, Wraiths and the bodies of Marines and some ODSTs that hadn't made it. Yet there were no Covenant ground troops to be spoken of. That fact alone dominated 1st platoon's concerns as they moved across the parallel concourses of Terminal A in the Northern Wing. They were forced to split up to account for the space's various levels connected by cases of inactive escalators.

So far no one had reported any run-ins with Grunts, Jackals or Elites. The relatively darkened interior was left almost immaculate save for the occasional plasma burn that pock-marked ceiling signage or one of the chairs in the rows of seats around them.

Duncan felt he was probably more worried than anyone else. If the Covenant wanted to ambush them, this was the perfect place to do it. But nothing had jumped out at them yet. That didn't mean of course that there was nothing here. The incident at North Camden taught him as much. He moved alongside the Staff and Nova in clearing their concourse, constantly searching through his targeting reticle for any non-human shapes that moved. They reached the end, finding nothing.

The Staff called, turning to the upper concourse on their left. "Ep-4, Ep-6, got anything?"

Hector and Rico both walked over, shaking their heads.

"Nothing."

"Nah, Jefe. Nada."

The Staff turned his attention to the lower level on their right. "Ep's 3, 5 and 7, anything?"

"No sir!" Zack yelled unnecessarily loud.

Duncan glanced over and saw Deaks slap Zack in the back of the head.

"Nothing down here." The Corporal replied. "Just bags and some idiot, nothing we need to worry about."

Yuri was crouched down around a clutch of abandoned suitcases. "Some of bags have nice goodies inside. Does it still count as stealing if owners are probably dead?"

"Nah!" Zack shouted again. "The Covies don't use dogs, Yuri! How could they be dog owners!?"

Nova came over to peer down at them, shaking her head in pity. "What's wrong with him? He's been shouting like that since we got in here."

"He's partially deaf." The Staff sighed. "Figured I should've told him to get off that cannon. I don't have a clue when his hearing will be back to normal. Ep-3 and 5, keep an eye out for any Covenant and Ep-7, one's a danger and the other's a liability."

The two troopers flashed their acknowledgement lights in annoyance. Zack, for lack of good hearing, asked: "What!? What'd he say!?"

Deaks walked up to him. "Just stay put."

"You want me to eat your foot!? What!?

Deaks stared him down for a moment. Then he grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him to a seat, making him sit down. He held up a hand to his visor and pointed down at the floor, the sign to stay put. Thankfully, Zack was only deaf, not blind. He nodded in understanding.

The Staff comm'd Joels next but got a similar answer from him. The Sergeant and his team had found nothing on the floor above. That meant Terminal A was clear.

Duncan still had his doubts, not to mention that they hadn't checked the lower-maintenance halls. Anything could still be down there. Even so, he figured at least something should be up here, or perhaps some sign that the Covenant spent longer in the building. Yet they hadn't torched it, damaged the tarmac or destroyed even a single one of the civilian starships outside. The aliens were known for their single-minded devotion to the annihilation of any semblance of humanity across the stars, so why hadn't they done anything to this building that had been in their possession for weeks?

Duncan thought twice about it. There was no way they had abandoned that goal. Then he caught a thought that answered the quandary in a way that sent a cold shiver through his being: Unless they still intended to carry out that destructive devotion, just not right away. Not yet.

He got an idea. It was a longshot but it could work, and he secretly hoped to God he was wrong. "Hey Ep-4."

Hector came back over. "Yeah?"

"You still have that Mineral Scanner from that Op on Epsilon Eridani IV?"

"Yeah, but I was saving it for scraps. What about it?"

Duncan held up his hands. "Toss it over real-quick, would you? I want to try something."

Hector reached into his rucksack, pulled out the pieces of the requested device and dropped them down to him.

On close inspection the defibrillator-look-alike only had its rectangular metal pan-section removed from the handle. It was a simple fix. It took him less than a minute to install the components back into place. The instrument beeped to life. The visual display on the back of the scanner showed the room around him as shapes highlighted and mixed along a spectrum of colors representing the various chemical compositions of the objects.

Nova wondered over to him. "What're you up to?"

"Just figuring something out." Duncan said as he typed in commands on the small keypad, switching what materials he wanted to scan for to a single element: Tritium.

On the display every other color disappeared, leaving behind a black fizzy darkness. But there was a small blue light that appeared one moment then disappeared the next, then reappeared. He pointed the scanner at his feet and saw the origin was a small ovular shape that blipped regularly with blue light.

"Found something." Duncan said.

The Staff strode over to him and looked over the readouts with Nova. "What is that?"

"Trace amounts of Tritium sir. Looks like the source is at least 60 meters below us. I'm thinking a sublevel near Baggage Claim."

The Staff Sergeant considered it and passed down judgement quickly. "Epsilon we're heading down to Baggage. Echo-1, have your squad stay up here."

"Copy." Joels replied. "If you need us, you know where to find us."

Epsilon quickly rendezvoused in Terminal A's central concourse. Duncan led the way using his scanner. They headed down one escalator after another until they came down to the ground floor. It was a lengthy space with an intricate system of conveyor belts marking it out as the baggage claim section.

The blue blip on the mineral scanner was larger and brighter now. Duncan pointed to a door between the last baggage conveyor and the vehicle rental desks. "There."

The Staff pointed to Rico and Hector then at the door. The squad stacked up on either side of it. On the Staff's go-ahead, Rico grabbed the handle and pulled it open. Hector stepped inside rifle raised.

"Clear."

The ODSTs filed inside and found themselves in a large room with stacks of abandoned suitcases that formed long isles. They fanned out across it like a spearhead with Duncan at the tip, holding his rifle with one hand and the scanner extended out with the other.

The blue blip on his display grew larger and larger until it led him to a section of suitcases in one of the isles. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Still, at the Staff's behest, half of the squad began pulling away suitcases while the other half guarded them. At moving the last two they found a wide section of floor-paneling that had been removed then almost seamlessly welded back into place. Almost.

"Ep-2." The Staff gestured to it.

Nova nodded. She took out a blowtorch and used the high-pressure flames to cut along the seams like a neurologist conducting a craniectomy. She finished the job then wedged her fingers inside to get some leverage. Hector helped her pull the paneling away and they slid it to the side. What was left was a small, two-meter deep hole in the ground.

A large ovular object sat at the bottom.

It briefly reminded Duncan of a violet pin cushion with long black needles poking out of it like spikes. But then he gradually figured out what it really was that he was looking at. He was thankful for his visor which hid the fact that the blood had drained from his face, only he didn't think it was going to do him much good anymore.

Nova swallowed. "That's…ho-, how did they-…"

"What is it?" Rico asked, walking over. He stopped beside them, looked down and almost dropped his rifle. His voice fell to a whisper. "Madre de Dios. ¿Cuándo llegó eso aquí?

Yuri wondered over as well out of curiosity. "Ugh, what is it?"

"That's an Antimatter Charge." Nova said with the calmness of a doctor calling in a patient's time of death.

The squad stood deathly still at the proclamation.

"Timer?" The Staff asked.

"Worse." Nova pointed down to the ovular device at a holograph of eight yellow-circles projecting from the center. "That would be blinking red if it were on a timer. It's not. But it would've been blue if it was simply active, which means…" The Engineering Specialist faded off in thought for a moment. No one dared to say a word until she finished. "Which means this thing is on remote detonation."

"Wait-wait." Hector said, holding up his hands. "Are you telling me that this could blow at any time?"

Nova slowly nodded her head. "If this thing goes off, it'll take half the Starport out with it." She turned to the others. "And I don't think I need to tell you what that means for us."

:********:

Second Blade R'tas Vadumee watched the human forces route the last of the Wraiths and begin forming a perimeter around the structure they called a 'Starport'. He was brimming with an equal measure of confidence and satisfaction, knowing full well that all was going according to plan.

Occultatum - Concealed


	26. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 7 (Tempus)

Chapter 7 - Tempus

September 16th, 2544 (07:30 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Matin Province, Continent of Vitre

Provincial Capital of New Memphis, De Gaulle Starport

:********:

Lieutenant Colonel Garrison strode briskly down the hallway before him, moving with unbridled swiftness despite the weight of his ODST BDU. The doors to the Command Room of the De Gaulle was just up ahead with a fireteam of four Marines standing guard. Despite their visible fatigue, they stood ram rod straight and saluted as they opened the doors, allowing him past.

The Command Room itself was a circular space with a window offering a 180-degree view of the Apron and the surrounding city. Various logistical stations with inactive displays encircled a central space with a meter-tall holotank. It vaguely reminded him of the Coronary back at Falchion. The thought briefly made him aware of just how much he missed his Battalion HQ. He brushed aside the nostalgia, knowing there was no place for it here, not under these conditions.

Two other persons occupied the room, two because the third didn't exactly count as human although she seemed to give off the uncanny notion of one.

The knightly AI known as Joan stood pensively over the projective lens of the holotank. Major General Horvath stood to her left and Colonel Mentieth to her right. The whole setup gave him the impression of witnessing the Transfiguration with a 2500's take on the subject, although, whether Joan could be considered a Messiah figure or not remained to be seen. He honestly hoped she was, because if what Squad Epsilon had uncovered beneath the baggage room of Terminal A was anything to go by, then they were all currently standing on the precipice of damnation.

Joan spotted him first and gave a curt bow. "Welcome, Lieutenant Colonel."

The others simply nodded. No one was in the mood for pleasantries, especially given the nature of what they were about to discuss.

"Are we still going ahead with it then?" Garrison asked.

Horvath folded his arms across his chest in thought. He sighed at length, telling Garrison all he needed to know before even opening his mouth. "We'll have to run the risk. Right now, Joan's busy preparing to get the Starport back online while also running through the back-up feeds to see who planted that charge and when."

Garrison's brow arched. "Back-up feeds?"

"Yes." Joan said, although her voice notably lacked some of the luster from earlier in the morning, instead sounding more tense. "Unbeknownst to most of the De Gaulle's patrons, there are hidden cameras in key positions with private power-supplies that can run even while the rest of the Starport is offline. They were installed decades ago for gathering evidence on terroristic activities should anything take place within the building such as a premeditated electrical shutdown. The initial point was to counter the Insurrectionists at the time. However, times have changed."

Joan held up her right hand and a two-dimensional screen projection appeared above it. "I cycled through weeks of footage since the initial invasion. So far, this is what I could find."

The image was a little hazy. However, it was clear enough for them to make out the expansive circular space of the Starport's main atrium located beneath the building's central glass dome. There were scattered chairs and tables from several latticed food courts, waiting areas and lanes leading to security checkpoints that branched off to terminals in either the North or South Wing. But what was of interest to the three officers were the seven dots moving across the space that were too tall to be human.

Joan zoomed in.

What popped out to Garrison right away was that they were Elites, seven of them. What he couldn't figure out was their armor. It was a dark crimson color with accompanying V-shaped visors that glowed a menacing blue. They were moving towards the security checkpoints leading to the North Wing.

He didn't recognize their armor at all. That meant this had to be some new type of Covenant Special Forces that humanity had yet to encounter, up till now at least. The lack of video audio made their every footstep seem silent, and the way their images flickered and faded in and out of spectral reality thanks to their light bending technology caused them to meld with the shadows of the darkened atrium.

"I've never seen that armor variant before." Mentieth observed. "Some new Spec Ops perhaps?"

Horvath scrutinized the figures. "There's a high chance but I can't say for certain." He turned to Garrison. "Any clues?"

The Lieutenant Colonel shook his head then pointed back to the image. "I recognize that though."

Horvath and Mentieth followed where he was pointing to a spot between the Elites. They were carrying a large, round object between them. Its violet sheen and spiky surfaces enabled them to quickly identify it.

"I'm glad you noticed." Joan said. "These are the same Elites that brought in the antimatter charge. The only problems are…"

"Problems?" Horvath asked, prompting her to finish. She glanced at Garrison.

"The antimatter charge that your ODSTs found is not the only one in the Starport."

The air around the room grew palpably heavier as the officers did their best to stifle their own concerned reactions to the news.

Horvath arched an eyebrow at her. "Care to explain?"

"In truth, these…whoever they are, brought in more than one through the main atrium. Across the feeds I counted five specifically that were carried into the building."

"Five?" Mentieth pressed. "Well, where are they?"

"That's where the second problem lies." Joan said. She paused to take in a virtual breath. "I don't know."

The AI sensed the impending backlash and preemptively held up her hands in her own defense. "Please understand, the hidden cameras aren't fool proof. For one reason or another, wherever the charges are transported, they send out a kind of EM field that radiates at least 100 meters out from the source. I believe this was how one of the ODSTs managed to find the first charge by detecting the trace-elements of Tritium that this field emits regularly. The EMs wouldn't be a problem to the higher-grade equipment used by UNSC troops and especially not the Covenant. However, it would affect lesser tech such as these cameras. The reason this is the only footage I have of these Elites is because wherever they took the charges, the field would knock out the cameras' power supplies before they could get a view. Those in the atrium had the advantage of distance since it is such a large open space."

"Then can you give us any ideas as to where these bombs may have been planted?" Horvath asked.

Joan gave another graceful bow then held up her sword arm. Another image appeared showing the schematical framework of the Starport. Five circular dots were drawn across the structure, two in the North Wing and three in the South Wing. "These are rough estimations of where each should be according to the proximity to local camera blackouts as well as the time that each device was transported through the main atrium. However, I couldn't say for certain where they're located. I would recommend using what technology that ODST is equipped with that discovered the first."

The three officers stood in quiet contemplation for a moment, pondering the situation and the different courses of action that could be taken. Garrison spoke first.

"Major General, are you certain you still want to carry on with-"

"I've already informed Tursk of what we've accomplished." Horvath said adamantly. "We've agreed that the Starport must remain open as a rallying point for the Miridem evacuation effort. The civilian starships from other regions are currently on their way here to refuel. We'll simply have to try and defuse these charges before they get here. There's no time for delay. However, I'm restricting the info about our current dilemma."

"I wouldn't call it a dilemma, sir." Mentieth interrupted. "It's more like a pressure cooker. If the report from Garrison's troopers is anything to go by then the other charges are highly likely to also be on standby remote detonation. Just two are more than enough to take out the entire Starport. But five? That's overkill, sir. And if you allow Joan to reconnect the refueling lines and get fuel running again, a synchronous detonation of those charges could cause a ripple affect across the entire block. Considering how interconnected the fuel lines may be, we're potentially looking at city-wide devastation. The Covenant may not even need to glass us at that point."

"What are you recommending, Colonel?"

"Sir, I recommend an immediate evacuation of our forces from the Starport. From there, EOD can be sent in to-"

Garrison shook his head at the thought. "Not a good idea. We'd be dead long before we got the chance."

The other two officers turned to him fully, prompting him to carry on. "Is no one else here concerned about why those bombs are on remote detonation? That means whoever has the trigger can send us on a one-way ticket to hell right here and right now before I can even finish my sentence. But they haven't done it yet. Why is that?"

Horvath shrugged. "You tell me, Garrison."

Garrison looked out the room's window to the cityscape beyond the apron. "There's a saying where I'm from that I think best describes this situation; 'Why catch a Tuna with a Tanker when there's bigger fish on the way?'"

While Mentieth was still incredulous at its meaning, Horvath caught on quicky. "You're saying they're waiting for a bigger target to show up?"

"Targets." Mentieth said, starting to understand. "You mean…the civilian ships coming to refuel here, don't you?"

Garrison nodded. "They could've blown this place the moment we took the Starport. They didn't, which means they've got bigger fish to fry than us. A timer wouldn't do them any good since they don't know when the civies will be here so remote detonation is their best option. They're probably watching us even now." He eyed the Colonel. "That's the reason why we can't leave. If they see us suddenly bugging out of the Starport en masse without any obvious cause then they might realize that we've caught on to them. There's a high chance that they'll detonate the charges before we can escape so they can at least take some of us out."

"…So we're trapped here then, at their mercy?" Mentieth asked.

Garrison gave a long exhale. "Pretty much."

"We have at least one thing in our favor." Horvath said. "They don't seem to be aware of the fact that we've uncovered one of their bombs. If they knew that we know, I'm certain they would've set off all five by now. That means we have a window of opportunity here." He pointed to the five dots on the schematics. "We'll send out teams to search for the last charges. Garrison, I want that squad that found the first one to help out. We'll have to defuse all five simultaneously so as not to alert the Covenant until it's too late. Mentieth, your guys and mine will hold down their sectors outside. We're operating on a need to know basis here. Only those who need to know should be told what the situation is. Everyone else stays out of the loop."

"Wouldn't it be better for them to know, sir?" Mentieth asked.

"Knowing doesn't do them any good." Horvath admitted. "Especially since they're not in the position to do anything about it. I'd rather not cause a panic."

Both the Colonel and Lieutenant Colonel nodded at the grim fact.

"Understood sir, I'll keep my people in place." Mentieth said. Though he still seemed concerned about the matter, he kept his worries to himself for now.

Horvath's attention resettled on the AI. "Joan, I don't want the Starport running on full power until the job's done. Understand?"

The AI held out her sword proudly to the Major General. "I will do what is necessary to save my Castle my Lord. I swear it."

:********:

Nova wished she could take off her helmet right about now to wipe away the sweat streaming down her forehead and stinging her eyes. It wasn't because she was hot. Her armor's temperature controls were working overtime to keep her cool. Rather, it was because when defusing an alien device with a kiloton yield easily equivalent to a nuclear warhead, one could naturally expect to feel a little anxious. And as if that weren't enough, the device could go off at a moment's notice and reduce her and everyone within range into vaporous gasps of smoldering matter. It was no Tsar Bomba, but it could do the trick just fine.

In moments like these, which she was grateful were few and far in between, she often took stock of her life up to this point. Memories of family she left behind on Earth would slip through her mind, of her mother and father taking turns dropping her to school and saying one of many goodbyes, or of her little brother who spent most of his life in a wheelchair until she had to say her final goodbye to him on a hospital bed. They were more often than not painful memories.

Then there was Epsilon.

In the few years she'd been an ODST she had gotten to know plenty others while mostly sticking close to her squad. The Staff, Deaks, Hector, Yuri, Rico, Zack and most recently, Duncan. The faces behind the names went through her mind. She always felt like the only girl in a family full of boys. But they were still family, just as much as the one she'd left behind. She would do what she needed to in order to protect them, just as she'd promised herself to do for her parents when she left Budapest for Camp Árpád.

Both Epsilon's Engineering Specialist and Demolition Specialist had been left behind to conduct explosive ordinance disposal on the weapon. While Nova and Rico got to work, most of the rest of the squad was busy hunting down the rest of the charges, except for Yuri who had to stay behind to stand guard.

It was nothing short of a gut-punch when the Lieutenant Colonel comm'd them to inform them of the true scale of the Starport's security breach. The fact they would have to stay quiet about it was probably the best option. Except for their COs, only 1st platoon, Alpha's 2nd Platoon and a selected team of EOD specialists from the 211th were in the know. They were going to find the rest of the bombs and then defuse them all simultaneously.

It was a good plan, but what good plan that involved simultaneously deactivating five nuclear devices set to remote detonation ever ended well? She almost wished there were. That way she could feel a little bit more comfortable about what she was about to do.

From the get-go there was no choice save for crouching on top of the antimatter charge in order to actually work with it. Nova had to settle herself between two spikes and hope she didn't slip and get herself accidentally impaled. Rico was doing the same thing on the other side. They were both working from a shared pool of tools they would need to handle the job on the interior. At the moment they were still occupied with blow-torching their way inside. Both of them placed a palm against the weapon's surface to steady themselves while they used their other hand to hold the torches, searing their own elongated circles beside the arming device located half a meter from the center.

"How're you handling, Ep-6?" Nova asked, having noticed that the demolitionist had been quiet this hold time.

Rico didn't look up as the light from his torch glowed over his polarized visor. His voice came out as icy chill. "Why can't we just use the arming device to shut this thing down? It'd be easier wouldn't it?"

She could tell he had slipped into his hyper-serious persona which only ever happened under high stakes scenarios such as this.

"We can't. Since its on remote detonation then we can't risk it being reactivated by whoever has their hands on the trigger. We either take this thing out at the source…or it takes us out."

"So what do we do once we get inside? Do we have to wait until they find all the others before we start?"

Nova shrugged. "Guess so."

"I just don't want to blow up. The idea doesn't sit well with me, you know."

"You can't exactly help not siting well on this thing, can you?"

"Hmph, you got a point Dama Roja. I wish you didn't."

There was a bright burst of sparks as they reached the end of their rotations. They both carefully grabbed the Magnetic Grapple Devices on their backs and held them over the section of cut metal. Their thumbs hovered over the triggering stripes on the back-handles.

"On your go, Ep-2."

"Three…two…one…mark."

They pressed the triggering stripes at the same time. The Grapplers beeped on. There was a double clang as the strong magnetic pull generated ripped the metal circles up from the bomb's surface to stick to the devices' undersides. They discarded the pieces of metal and crawled cautiously towards the newly made holes.

The weapon's interior was aglow with a harsh blue light. They were forced to bend a little to get a better look inside.

A rainbow of multicolored wires weaved through varying sectioned components that were all cast in a single blue illumination emanating from the center: a projection of concave energy shielding housed within a small holding platform. From its azure-white glow, they could tell it was a sheathing made of Tritium, one of the two main elements that the Covenant used in their ships' Pinch fusion reactors. What captured their attention was the sphere of bright white and purple energy the size of a golf ball that floated in the middle of the concave containment field like a miniature star. It was neither too close to the top nor bottom of the field. Its positioning was perfectly balanced, probably for good reason.

"Is that what I think it is?" Rico asked, almost upside down due to the way he had to lean in.

Nova nodded back. "Antimatter."

Rico gave a lighthearted whistle, sounding like he was loosening up a little at the strangeness of the sight. "Never seen anything like it this up close."

"And let's hope we don't ever have to again." Nova swallowed the rock of anxiety she felt welling up in her throat. "Think this thing is a Penning's Trap?"

Rico scrutinized the sphere of energy. "Nah, its not rotating. There'd be signs of acceleration to keep it from colliding with the Tritium sheathing. I'm willing to bet everything that we're dealing with antihydrogen here."

"That'll make this an Ioffe Trap then. But wouldn't there need to be an expansion of the Tritium to create the space needed for the stabilizing effect? That shielding isn't moving at all."

Rico shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe it's both?"

Nova glanced at the walls. "Maybe it's neither. Ep-6, increase spectral enhancement by twenty percent."

"Roger."

They carefully upped the degree of their visor's visual acuity. It was a difficult task because going too high on visual improvement with an object such as the one before them could get them struck with permanent blindness if they weren't careful. As far as they both knew, 20% was already a gamble too far.

The bomb's interior became much more defined. Rays of sparkling blue energy appeared that fed into the Tritium sheathing from the surrounding wall. They both followed them to their source in the form of fingertip sized nodes that dotted the interior walls near the holding platform.

Inside the shielding itself the light cast from the non-object housed within flickered to a near epilepsy-inducing degree, prompting them to only take quick glances that left its afterimage temporarily burned into their retinas. The sphere was moving. The problem was that it was moving with such speed that the motion was imperceptible to the naked eye, hence the impression of stillness. Both of them returned to normal visuals.

"That's bingo for antimatter particle acceleration as well as Magnetic and Electrical Shielding Emitters." Nova said, smirking.

Rico huffed. "Good thing I didn't risk any good money on this then. Jeez, it's like betting on Irish' odds. So how are we doing this?"

Nova looked around a bit more. In doing so she spotted a second concave containment field, smaller than the one right below it. This one was much lighter, meaning it was likely there to only contain radiation. Her keen eyes noticed the small, multi-faceted glass housing within, and inside of that, a disc of silvery metal the size of a coin. She dropped a NAV marker on it. "That's what we need."

"Looks like…Plutonium." There was a moment of silence as Rico seemed to put the pieces together. "So that's how it works."

"Yeah. That glass chamber's probably a release mechanism. Whoever's got the detonator just has to pull the trigger. Once that plutonium contacts the antimatter, it's over."

"Death by Particle Annihilation." Rico sighed. "Great. That's nice. I'm guessing we're starting with the nodes then?"

Nova rose back up from the hole. "Matchstick!"

Yuri appeared a moment later standing over the lip of the abscess in the floor of the baggage room. "Da?"

"Prinesi mne germetiki!"

"Khorosho."

He disappeared from the edge then reappeared seconds later holding two small tubes with trigger mechanics attached. As he handed them over, he snickered. "Whatever happened to using inside voice, hey Nova?"

"That only applies to you."

She didn't spare him another moment's attention and passed one of the tubes over to Rico.

"Concrete Sealants?" He asked, looking it over.

"It'll help block the projection capacities of the emitters and prevent any chance of high radiation leakages from the nodes being blocked. We only need to disable the ones contributing directly to the Tritium Sheath surrounding the Plutonium. With those out of the way, we can use the Grapplers to pull it out. Then we're golden."

Rico flashed her the okay sign.

They attached the tubes to their blowtorches then carefully repositioned themselves so their backs were to the entry points on the charge. They hooked their legs around the closest spikes and proceeded to slowly lean inside.

Upside down in the cramped space, Nova was more than thankful she wasn't claustrophobic. She couldn't afford to be when she shared the same room as everyone else in the Dante Building back at Falchion.

She boosted her spectral enhancement back to 20%, did her best not to look directly at the flickering antimatter and began the arduous task of tracing the individual rays of energy back to their respective nodes. Those that connected to the sheathing surrounding the plutonium she quickly leaned towards then released a heavily measured drop of liquid concrete onto it. She then used her blowtorch to heat the cement until it dried into a solid coating. Rico did the same on the other side of the cramped space.

After five minutes with the blood rushing to their heads the work was almost done. She glanced at the energy shielding around the plutonium disc and noticed it was growing fainter. They were making headway. But she also happened to notice that one of the nodes Rico had taken care of looked shinier than the rest. It was still wet. Her heart rose into her throat as she increased her visor magnification and noticed a small droplet forming.

"Rico."

The Demolitionist, at hearing his actual name, turned around to her. She nodded urgently at the node. He spotted it just as the droplet finally fell.

It fell with what seemed like agonizing slowness yet too fast for them to react, landing on a lower node. Immediately the energy field surrounding the antimatter particle fluctuated to a minute degree. The particle housed within shifted slightly upward and to the left. They held their breath. After several tense seconds, the antimatter floated back to its original position. Still the sheathing remained slightly deformed.

They stared at it for another ten seconds to make sure it stayed put at the center.

Nova slowly rounded on her inverted EOD partner. "Make sure…its dry next time…we clear?"

Rico gave a slight nod of his head. "Crystal."

They quickly went back to work despite the uncomfortably close call. After another four minutes they were both done. They double and triple checked the nodes to make sure they were dried, then shifted their attention to the plutonium disc. The surrounding glass encasement was completely free of the energy shielding. Nova didn't waste a second. She reached over and seared a hole through the glass before poking it out of the way, leaving a means of accessing the plutonium.

The two ODSTs pulled themselves out of the antimatter charge to sit on top of it.

"Now we wait." Nova said.

Rico set aside his blowtorch and eyed her Magnetic Grappler. "Hopefully you can pull it off. Oh, and one more thing. You saw how that antimatter particle went back into position?"

Nova thought it over, then cocked her head when she realized what he was getting at. She could sense him grinning. "What about it?"

"Sí." He laughed. "That's the stabilizing effect."

"But the Sheath wasn't expanding."

"La estabilización es la estabilización. That's right Dama Roja, it's an Ioffe Trap too. I want my money back."

She laughed, holding up her hands. "Well then it's a good thing we didn't bet anything. Plus, I wasn't the one who almost set it off."

Rico growled in dissatisfaction. "I just want payment for this hack-job they made us do here."

"The Staff said he is on way to Terminal E." Yuri said, stepping back over to the abscess again. "They've found three more of bombs already."

Nova considered the info as a sign of progress. "That means we've got one more left to go. Keep your ears open. Once they give the signal, we've got to be in place to defuse this pin cushion." She patted the charge's surface. "However comfy it may be."

:********:

If Duncan saw another Antimatter Charge in the next 10 years it would've been too soon. One was already one-too-many. With four, he was so far over the line that he couldn't even see it anymore. Even so, the EOD team was already on its way down the darkened halls leading to the South Wing, following the Tritium pulse of the EM field generated from what had to be the last charge.

After the one they found in Terminal A, they discovered the second in the ceiling above a balcony in Terminal B. The third was hidden inside of one of the support pillars in Terminal C. The fourth in D was sealed away within a maintenance room floor. The EOD experts amongst the Marines were left behind to contend with them while the rest of the team carried on.

Duncan was at the forefront of the operation with his mineral scanner. While he was quietly regretting his decision to ask Hector for the device, he accepted it as a necessary risk. They needed the Starport, there was no getting around that fact.

Right now, with the scanner in hand, he was also carrying the weight of innumerable lives. Performance pressure wasn't the right word for it. It was more like a broken record in his mind screaming at him with each step he took: "Don't screw up or we're all dead!"

Duncan was safe at the center of 1st and 2nd platoons' advance down the lengthy passage. The Staff who had taken point with Captain Ortega peered back at him. "Anything, Ep-8?"

He checked his scanner display. "Take a left at the intersection 50 meters up. It's another 110 meters after that."

"Copy."

"Got some updates if anyone's interested." Zack said. It was no small thing to say that everyone was grateful his hearing was back to normal.

The Staff gave him the go-ahead. "Shoot."

"Alright, local news first. I'm your Waypoint host, Private Zachary Matthews and today-"

"No theatrics." The Staff said. "Just the rundown."

Zack sighed. "Nova and Rico are ready to defuse the first charge we found back in Terminal A. Those EOD guys back in Terminal's B through D are saying the same thing. We only need to hit the last one then we're ready."

"Uhuh, what else?"

"As for international news," Zack laughed. "Words come down the grape vine from SATCOM. Everyone's pulling back to New Memphis. When I say everyone, I mean everyone that's left. The Covies are really pressing in hard into the West so the Navy's doing a tactical withdrawal. The first civilian transports are gonna be here in about an hour."

"That's not much time."

"Oh." Zack perked up. "How about a special addition? There's reports coming in from across Miridem, a lot of chatter about some new special forces that've been going around helping people out. They had this really cool name too but I can't remember what it was."

"I hope they could help us out." Duncan said. "Cause if this doesn't work, we'll need all the help we can get."

"Amen and amen." The Staff said.

The two platoons reached the intersection and took a left. After another 90 meters they entered into the central concourse of Terminal E. They quickly spread out across the space, rifles up.

Duncan saw the familiar shape of a blue ovular object on the floor beneath them. He called it out and they headed down a floor using a dormant escalator. The pulse led them over to a row of chairs. One of them looked slightly out of place. A pull from Hector allowed him to yank four of the adjoined seats out of the ground with ease, more ease than should've been normal.

"Whoever planted these charges really knew what they were doing." Hector said, pointing down to an area of tight seams not so obviously cut out in the floor. They repeated the process they had done in the baggage claim below Terminal A and every terminal afterwards. Once the troopers blowtorched out a slab of paneling, they found another abscess, and another antimatter charge.

"2-Actual to Razor-3 and 5, get to it."

At Ortega's orders two ODSTs from Squad Razor climbed down into the abscess with the help of other squadmates. They took out tools from their rucksacks and started getting to work.

For another ten minutes everyone else took up a defensive posture around them. The troopers quickly got through the exterior and started messing with the bomb's innards. At the end of the ten minutes they successfully got themselves in position for the plutonium disc removal.

The Staff passed the info along to Garrison who proceeded to coordinate the effort over a private commlink to the EOD teams. "We only get one chance at this people. On my mark. Three…two…one…mark!"

The EOD crews across the Starport used their Magnetic Grapplers to simultaneously pull the plutonium discs from the release mechanisms. Duncan watched Razor-3 stand up with the disc attached to his grappler.

A moment later the Lieutenant Colonel called in with each team to ensure the disarming was successful. Across the board, all five were confirmed deactivated. In a second, the tension that had pervaded across the last hour dissipated completely.

The ceiling lights turned on around them, bathing the concourse in light as the Starport's local AI reactivated its primary functions. The De Gaulle was finally up and running.

There was a collective sigh of relief and a few congratulatory high-fives. Duncan was about to take one from Hector who he knew deserved his own praise for keeping the mineral scanner on him in the first place. But he was stopped by the appearance of another blue pulse on the scanner display.

He gradually turned away from the larger ODST, quietly following the blue blips until he found himself facing a boarding tube on the other side of the terminal. There, somewhere beyond the tube was another, familiar, oval-shaped object.

Duncan felt his mouth go dry. It made it a challenge to force words out. "E-, Ep-8 to Ep-1," Duncan said, licking his lips. "We've…got a sixth one…over?"

The other ODSTs slowly stopped their small celebration and rounded on Duncan. The Staff immediately stepped out. "Repeat your last, Ep-8?"

"There's another one sir." Duncan said. He pointed towards the docking tube. "Down there, it was a smaller pulse than the others so…I didn't pick it up till we defused them..."

The air across the concourse became burdened with a heavy sense of dread and urgency. Without a word, or any gesture, the two platoons rushed towards the tube's entrance. They each knew that if they weren't before, the Covenant were now fully aware of the fact that the UNSC were disarming their bombs, and now they still had one left under their control.

The troopers rushed down the docking tube. They turned the corner inside only to be stopped at the door to the Starship on the other side, and the girl with the glowing halo standing guard before it. The holographic image of the armored figure they quickly recognized as the Starport AI. She extended her sword over the door. "Stop my kinsmen, I will handle this."

Confused, the troopers looked at each other, at the door and then at the AI.

"What're you doing?" The Staff asked.

"Saving my Lords." The AI held up a hand. There was an audible THUMP from the door. Then light appeared as the craft docked on the other side pulled away. Through the window they could see the Starship begin moving on its own, backing up a hundred meters across the tarmac before piloting onto an open runway.

The image of the knightly girl disappeared. With the guardian gone, they were able to get close enough to watch the ship, an elongated jet-like craft with a bulky body, rush down the open runway before lifting off. It reached max speeds at a surprising rate and ascended into the morning sky. After a full minute of ascent, the craft disappeared behind a curtain of clouds.

The AI's voice startled them as she spoke over the PA system. "My deepest apologies for not realizing the presence of the sixth charge. The enemy must have purposefully planted this one by boarding the craft directly from outside rather than passing through the main atrium. It may have been a back-up in case anything happened to the others. Either way, it is no longer within range. The moment you detected its presence, I split off a separate Subroutine into the piloting suite to remove the craft from our immediate proximity."

"So then…the De Gaulle's safe?" Duncan asked.

"Indeed, my Lord. The Castle is secured."

Duncan's knees suddenly gave out and he collapsed onto all fours. He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. In truth, he felt more mentally drained than physically tired. Surviving the entire ordeal had taken its toll.

The Staff rest a hand on his shoulder, still focused on the skies. "Good work, Ep-8. Keep that up and we just might win this war."

Even despite the confidence in his tone, Duncan could pick up on the faint traces of shakiness.

"Sure, sir." He said between deep breaths. "If I don't go out first, I'll do what I can."

"That's the right attitude, trooper."

Zack stepped up. "Does that mean we're not gonna die then?"

The Staff shook his head. "No. Just means we're alive for a little longer."

:********:

From the top floor of a structure bordering the large western highway around the Starport, R'tas observed the human forces setting up positions amongst the vehicle wreckages. His gaze flickered between them and the dial device in the palm of his four-digited hand. As the trigger for the Antimatter Charges he and his team had planted inside the Starport, it was checked and double-checked to ensure its functionality. Yet this was no malfunction. His eyes weren't failing him either. Five of the six icon-projections signifying the connection to the charges suddenly went dark at the same time, meaning they had been disarmed. While the sixth was still active, he kept away from detonating it out of a simple and now possibly fatal mistake. He hesitated.

The bewilderment of losing the well-hidden bombs struck him with greater force than his Brothers or Uncles ever could during his youthful training years in his clan's Keep. What compounded shame upon shame was the moment he did try using one of his thumbs to break the beamline at the center of the dial that would've set off the charges.

Not one of them detonated, not even the sixth he'd hidden on one of their Starships. The symbol for that charge remained active. However, it refused to activate simply because it was now out of range on the same Starship that he had watched flee into the sky, and his hope for further glory fled with it.

Beside him stood his judge, jury, and perhaps now, his executioner.

The other Sangheili was dressed in the red combat harness fitting of his rank. Two spike-like protrusions on his helmet seemed like horns to R'tas, waiting to skewer him at a moment's notice. The pulsing blue ornamentation across the officer's armor seemed to glow with the confidence that had completely drained from R'tas.

Field Marshal Arzon Zotamee's face was a mask of uneasing mystery. His mandibles were closed together and his eyes filled with silent judgement which settled onto R'tas like a crushing weight. "It seems that your scheme has failed. Even your contingency has failed. And now I find the task again resting upon my shoulders to annihilate the humans."

The words stung worse than any bruise or beating and burrowed into the warrior with a hidden sharpness. "Triumphant One," R'tas began, "I would have taken preemptive measures had I known the humans were capable of detecting our antimatter technologies. I-"

Zotamee held up a hand, silencing him. "No need. Only a fool unfit for the mantle of leadership would concern himself with what he could have done and not with what action he can still execute. I will send in my forces immediately and destroy the humans' place of escape before a single one of their ships reaches."

Zotamee turned and strode with dignified grace towards a door where two more Sangheili of Major rank, his personal guard, stood waiting. He stopped at the threshold. "Perhaps I am the only fool here for putting more faith in such a novice than was due him. You are a Silent Shadow, but your legacy will be forever shrouded in quiet darkness should you remain as you are. Remember these words. By my order, you and your team will do nothing but watch as I account for your failure with my own success, is that understood?"

R'tas didn't answer.

"Is…that…understood, Second Blade Vadumee?"

R'tas shut his eyes. "Yes, Triumphant One. We will remain on standby awaiting your command."

"Do not hold out hope for that command." The Field Marshal said and walked out of the room, his guards following him.

R'tas was left alone to watch what would unfold. He was also left alone to bare his own dishonor.

Midway through the battle that raged on this world, he had arrived with his team via the Subfleet they were assigned to in order to reinforce the first Covenant fleet to arrive in the system. They were sent down to assist the scouting forces in the western hemisphere while the Subfleet settled matters in the west. R'tas and his fellow Silent Shadows had spent days conducting covert reconnaissance and extermination operations across this city the humans called 'New Memphis'.

R'tas himself was no commander. Being only a Second Blade Officer, he was subordinate to a superior of his own. However, said superior in the form of the First Blade Officer had expressed enough trust in his abilities to recommend him to lead the clandestine operation to draw the humans to the Starport and annihilate the vermin there, even going so far as to convince the Field Marshal of the efficiency of what was originally R'tas' own idea.

Today he had failed both them and all the Covenant troops hidden across the area. His blood boiled at the nature of his own culpability. His confidence had blinded his foresight. Now he would pay for it by watching another claim the glory that would've been his. Worse yet, Zotamee would do it via the same means that had become his life's greatest envy since joining the Silent Shadows: direct combat, simple, unfettered by overbearing tact and obtuse planning.

In his anger he lashed out, punching his fist clean through a window. He watched the glittering fragments rain down to the floor. It reflected his V-shaped visor back to him in scattered fragments.

He knew he would still have to make a report to his Fleetmaster of the Subfleet he was assigned to, and of course then to the Supreme Commander of the overall fleet. It was a daunting task. Regardless, he chose to channel his anger and frustration into dutifulness. If he could only watch and observe then he would do so to his utmost. He would record everything he saw, and hesitation, he swore, would never arise in him again.

Tempus - Time


	27. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 8 (Spartana)

Chapter 8 - Spartana

September 16th, 2544 (08:45 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Matin Province, Continent of Vitre

Provincial Capital of New Memphis, De Gaulle Starport

:********:

The attack came from every direction.

The Covenant seemed to seep out of sewer exits and buildings surrounding the Starport, as if someone had flipped a switch. Now they were forming a singularly massive maw, ready to swallow the De Gaulle whole.

It completely went over Duncan's head how they hadn't detected them. There was a chance they'd stowed away within the subterranean maintenance tunnels. For the moment, however, he was more concerned about the fact that they were actively trying to kill him and every ODST, Marine and Armored personnel now holding the line.

Garrison had sent both Alpha and Bravo Companies to the frontlines the moment the first Covenant forces were seen pressing towards the Starport. The ODSTs of Alpha's 2nd Platoon and Bravo's 1st Platoon were dispatched along the kilometer-long Western Sector. They stood alongside 500 Marines of 2nd Battalion, the combined forces of Lima and Olympic Companies, as well as a few Hogs and Tanks from the 53rd. Even so, the number of Covenant troops charging towards them were triple that, and the bulk of UNSC defensive elements were currently engaged at the other sectors.

"Give'em hell, troopers!" The Staff said over bursts of rifle fire. "Hold this position!"

Squad's Epsilon and Echo winked their acknowledgement lights as they took turns firing and ducking behind the smoldering wreckages of Wraith tanks to avoid the hail of plasma coming their way.

The dozens of Wraiths left disabled by the earlier Longsword-strike were the perfect cover. Their bulbous girths enabled UNSC forces to peek out and fire regularly at encroaching Grunts and Jackals without having to face them over open ground.

The Covenant, however, were forced to cover the 100-meter stretch of marked runway in order to reach the scores of Marines and ODSTs gunning them down by the handfuls. They were willing to face the suicidal odds anyway, especially the Elites who yelled out eloquent lines of unintelligible bravado as they charged and fired.

Several squads of Grunts and Jackals got close enough to filter through a nearby mazework of Wraith wreckages led by four very-eager Elite Minors. Very eager to die, Duncan thought. "Covies pushing up to the Northwest, 10 meters out."

Epsilon and the Marines mixed in among them quickly opened up on them. Duncan added his own MA37 to the mix. Four Grunts who'd pushed too far ahead got caught in the hailstorm while the others took cover. The survivors fired back with plasma and needler rounds.

An Elite tossed a plasma grenade into the air. The small blue ball arced towards them, landing on the hull of one of their Wraiths. It whined then detonated in a flash of cerulean gas and electrical energy that tore a solid chunk out of the wreckage.

Deaks, lying prone over the belly of another Wraith, fired his sniper at the grenade's source. The Elite reeled back from its cover as a 114-millimeter round punched it in the gut, bursting its energy shield. Another round passed through its snarled mouth and caused it to topple over.

The Staff came in over team freq. "Get some frags in there!"

Duncan lobbed a grenade towards the closest enemy position with everyone else doing the same. A heartbeat later came a cacophony of alien screams as successive grenade detonations sent Grunts, Jackals and Elites flying into the air.

Two surviving Jackals and an Elite charged out, firing and sprinting towards them. Duncan gave the closest Jackal a three-round burst to the foot that made it falter, lowering its shields and allowing him to pump half his magazine into its exposed chest. Its next of kin fell under a similar salvo.

The Elite forged on regardless and became the epicenter of a small solar system of bullets.

Duncan was about to join in when he spotted a trio of Grunts leaping out from behind a Wraith five meters away. One was about to throw a plasma grenade. He targeted that one and drilled ten rounds into its stomach. The alien flinched and squealed as its torso was torn apart. It fell forward with the grenade in hand which whined then exploded, sending the other two airborne. He dispensed his dry clip and slapped in a new one just as the Elite's shield dissipated. He lent his own help in causing it to almost dance to the tune of bullets ripping through armor and flesh. After two seconds of sustained fire it slumped limply to the ground.

There was a flash of light and blood spray spattered Duncan's visor. He crouched, trying to wipe it off. When he did, he saw the Marine that had been standing next to him now on his back, staring up at the morning sky with an angry red hole in his head that steamed and crackled.

"Sniper!"

The others heard him and swiftly got down.

"Ep-1 to Ep-8, which direction?"

Duncan glanced back at the fallen Marine. He looked at the hole in his forehead, saw his empty eyes and, for a moment, wondered if that was how Cosmo looked when he died.

"Ep-8, which direction?" The Staff called more hastily.

Duncan snapped out of it and took note of the entry angle of the hole in the man's head. He peeked back over the Wraith-cover to glance at the distant buildings of New Memphis. "I'm thinking those rooftops 30 degrees to our Northeast."

Behind the broken exhaust port of another Wraith, Deaks sighted through his sniper rifle's oracle scope and scanned the rooftops. "Ep-3 to 1, I'm looking at seven…no, ten Jackals on overwatch, over."

"Weapons?"

"These boys are packin' alright, Type-50 Particle Beam Rifles across the board. At least four are looking our way."

"Solid copy. Echo-5, you're on counter-sniper duty with Ep-3. Everyone else, keep your heads down and hold the line."

The rest of the platoon winked their acknowledgement lights. Echo-5 shuffled over to Deaks' side with his sniper rifle. The two marksmen nodded at each other then picked their targets. The ODSTs waited until the duo fired off two rounds each before standing back up to pick their own targets.

More Covenant were already inbound. Grunts and Jackals flooded across the Apron with their Elite Handlers. Yet they were the least of the troopers' concerns.

Deep, throaty roars resounded across the Apron. Heavy footfalls thundered over the tarmac. Wreckages of dead Wraiths were forced aside by creatures with the strength and patience of a raging bull.

Duncan spotted the pairs of blue plate-armored goliaths stampeding towards them. Standing at three and a half meters tall, they towered over the other troops that used their sheer bulk for cover. Concrete crunched beneath their feet as the long spines on their backs bristled in anticipation.

The hulking aliens were at the forefront of the Covenant advance. Around 20 pairs of the humanoid juggernauts stomped towards the line of UNSC. As showers of ballistic fire rained against their two-ton pavise shields, their hand-mounted assault cannons spewed out either a single emerald torpedo that crashed against Marine positions or used streams of plasma to bathe them in green flames.

A torpedo struck a Warthog near Duncan, swallowing up the three Marines onboard in the resulting explosion.

"Hunters!" The Staff called out. "SPANKRS, move up!"

Rico and Hector slid to an opening in the labyrinth of vehicle wreckages. Captain Ortega ordered two from Reaper Squad to join them. They each set their sights on the two Hunter pairs less than 10 meters away and fired, sending out eight rockets, two for each individual Hunter. Three detonated harmlessly against their shields. Two slammed into one's exposed midsection, causing part of the gestalt colony of orange-colored worms housed within to spill out from the fiery wound. It lurched forward but remained upright, unlike the dozen Grunts, Jackals and several Elites behind it as the last three rockets ploughed into their ranks.

The two pairs answered with streams of searing plasma that forced the ODSTs and Marines to duck back behind cover. One of the Hunters broke rank. Taking advantage of the situation, it charged towards them, bellowing a kind of muffled battle cry.

It managed to reach their lines, barreling through a roasted Warthog and breaking it in half. A fireteam of Marines and ODSTs fired into it. It grunted under the pressure but went after a Marine that had the grave misfortune of being the closest. The Hunter leapt at the man and swatted him away with its shield, sending his broken corpse sailing through the air. His two squadmates were now firing and screaming at the alien's exposed back, eliciting gouts of orange blood. The Hunter pivoted on one armored foot, wielded its shield like a club and swung it down onto the second Marine, crushing him and nearly splitting him in half. The force threw the last Marine back against the blackened remains of the Hog, winding her. She got back on her feet, firing her DMR into the slit of its helmet. The Hunter ducked its head beneath the shield and leaped again, this time impaling the soldier on two of the pointed spines adorning its back. She coughed up blood, struggling to get free as the alien stood back up, ignoring her skewered form still hanging on its back to charge after a retreating ODST. Its hive-minded focus blocked out the heavy concentration of bullets spraying over its body to pursue the trooper. It proved faster, pushed the ODST onto his stomach, raised its foot high and stamped down in an eruption of gore.

Another Marine trying to retreat turned around and fired on the creature's midsection. The Staff jumped out from cover carrying his M90 shotgun. He joined the Marine in firing buckshot into its worm-riddled torso. The hivemind amalgamation turned to them and roared in anger. It reached them in two titanic steps and swiped at them with its shield. The Staff managed to duck but slipped onto his back while the Jarhead proved too slow and was decapitated for his trouble. As the Marine's body spiraled away, the Staff pumped another shell into the chamber, fired again and again, earning one multi-vocal grunt of pain and liter of amber blood with each pull of the trigger.

The Hunter raised its foot, ready to stamp down when a sniper round splashed through its 'head', knocking it back. A follow-up 40-millimeter grenade bounced near the Staff then up into the alien's midsection before detonating. The blast pushed it further back. It fell onto its knees as slithering worms fell from its torso like living intestines.

The Staff saw his chance.

He dashed past the creature, slid behind it and fired two more bursts of buckshot into its back. The Hunter released a final cry of agony and collapsed forward.

The Staff didn't risk getting up right away, not until he was certain it was dead.

A few other Marines, probably squadmates, ran over to the fallen behemoth, not to finish it off, but to try and dislodge the wounded Marine impaled on its back. They slowly pried her body off the spines and laid her down. The Staff saw the look of pure agony frozen on her face and could tell she was already beyond saving.

Across the Western Sector, the Marines of Lima and Olympic Companies and the ODST platoons sprinkled between them were facing increasing pressure from the line of advancing Hunters. While seven had been taken out individually, enough pairs had gotten close enough to start wreaking havoc. Close quarters combat broke out as Hunters crushed UNSC forces one by one or incinerated them with plasma. They punched holes through the first line of defense for other Covenant to stream through.

Grunts discharged plasma pistols into Marines at point-blank range. Jackals withstood rifle fire with blue and red energy shields. Elites leaped over the wreckages of Wraiths and blasted any human within sight with bursts of plasma. Those armed with energy swords summarily cutdown anyone within reach.

1st and 2nd Platoons were forced to contend with the advances of three more Hunters and the various species coming behind them. It was obvious to anyone with eyes and the ability to turn their head from one side of the battlefield to the other that the outer-Western Defense was crumbling.

The order to retreat came over SATCOM. "This is Major General Horvath to all UNSC forces on the Western Approach, fall back to the second defensive line immediately! Fall back now!"

Every Marine and Orbital Drop Shock Trooper alive to hear it was keen to obey.

"You heard him people!" The Staff shouted. "Get back to the second line, let's go!"

With the closest Hunter less than 10 meters away, 1st platoon broke from their positions and ran, retreating through the maze of Wraith wrecks that were being set ablaze at their backs. They coordinated with 2nd Platoon, stopping every 20 meters to cover the retreat of the other in a tactical withdrawal. They ritualistically cut down the persistent Grunt or Jackal pursuing their sister platoon.

After a minute they came across a stretch of open tarmac, at least 100 meters to the other side. If they had been fighting in a maze of Wraith tanks before, they were about to find themselves in a forest of vehicles soon. Not only Wraiths, but Warthogs and Scorpions, both burning husks and their living counterparts formed the second and final line of defense. Scores of Marines were already desperately sprinting to the other side, some carrying wounded or lifeless comrades.

1st Platoon went first and made it safely to the other side to setup defensive positions behind several Warthogs and two active Scorpions.

They covered 2nd Platoon as they made their run for it. With only 10 meters left to go, Razor-4 was singled out and received a beam of concentrated plasma thorough the thigh.

"Ep-3!" The Staff called.

"On it!" Deaks said and got a beamline through his scope on a distant rooftop. He fired once, then twice. "Clear!"

Razor-2 picked up Razor-4 and dragged him the rest of the way, resting him behind the same Scorpion that Duncan was using for cover. He glanced over at the trooper as he was laid against one of the treads. Razor-2 sprayed a canister of biofoam into the steaming wound. Razor-4 sounded like he was holding back a few screams throughout the process. Once the muscular regenerative polymer dried, his squadmate patted him on the shoulder and dashed over to a better position.

The wounded trooper slowly turned to see Duncan who gave him a thumbs up. Razor-4 gave a tired nod in reply. He pulled out his M6 and held it close.

"Check weapons and ammo." The Staff ordered. "Make sure you have enough. If you run dry, call it out so someone can pass you a mag. This is our last chance people. We'll be fighting inside if we don't stop'em here."

Duncan winked his acknowledgement light. He had six more magazines left. He set his attention on his crosshairs and hoped it would be enough as the first Covenant forces began to appear.

At first, they oozed from the Wraith labyrinth like a leaking pipe. Then the leak turned into a rupture of hundreds of Elites, Jackals and Grunts. Led by a dozen pairs of Hunters, they sprinted across the open ground and at the last line of humans standing between them and the De Gaulle.

This time they were greeted with the devastating wrath of ten Scorpions standing guard along the line while LAAG fire from twice as many Hogs began skimming their numbers.

:********:

Lieutenant Colonel Garrison was having a hard time keeping the Southern Defensive Line in order. He found himself barking orders to his own troopers and Marines one moment, then pulling the trigger on Grunts that had waddled too close to the Hog he was using for cover the next. Mentieth was taking care of things on the opposite side of the Starport with Alpha's Company Commander. The Major General was holding the joint between the Eastern and Western Defensive Lines, but things were beginning to fall apart in the West. If even one part of the line collapsed then there was a high chance that the entire formation would fold.

As he finished off a charging Elite, he was thankful that the majority of Covenant air forces over New Memphis were already eliminated. The last thing they needed at this point were Seraph fighters doing a bombing run. However, the problem also applied in reverse. The Longswords who'd helped out earlier had been redeployed about an hour ago to assist Vice Admiral Tursk against the advancing Covenant fleet. A few well-coordinated ASGM-payload deliveries around the Starport could have easily turned the fight in their favor.

He would've given anything to have Delta and Echo Companies back groundside. That way he'd have the full weight of the 7th Battalion to bring to bare against the Covenant. But that wasn't an option anymore. After their evacuation from Miridem's Eastern Hemisphere they were mostly kept onboard their evac ships which were too preoccupied with action in the western exosphere to redeploy them.

Garrison was busy treating a Grunt wielding an overloaded plasma pistol with an overdose of hot lead when the Major General came in on his private comm-link. "This is Horvath to Garrison and Mentieth, how's the situation on your ends?"

"We're holding in the South, sir." Garrison stopped to crouch and reload before exchanging fire with a shielded Jackal. He got the better of it by shooting it in the heel, then put it down with a three-round burst to the skull. "Could use some back-up if there's any to spare."

"The situation's the same here." Mentieth said. There was an audible crack of thunder on the Colonel's end as a nearby Scorpion fired its cannon. "We're holding but reinforcements would be appreciated."

"Copy." Horvath said. "I'd spare you some if I weren't in need myself. The East is taking a beating but its holding. That said, we're already on our last legs on the West. If we're broken there, the Covenant will storm the Starport. If that happens, I'll need your sides to fall back and maintain control over the North and South Wings to try and corral the Covenant in the main atrium. We either keep them away from the refueling stations or its over for us."

"As you can imagine, my tanks won't be very useful in room to room fighting." Mentieth said.

"We'll figure it out as we go, Colonel. In the end we may not have a choice."

"What about reinforcements from the Fleet?" Garrison asked. "If everyone's rendezvousing here then can't they lend a hand?"

"They are." Horvath answered. "Tursk greenlighted a unit of special forces to be deployed to the De Gaulle to help us out."

Garrison winced. "I'm sorry sir, 'a' unit? As in one? We're going to need an entire battalion down here if we hope to stand a chance."

"I've already recalled my 5th and 7th Battalions back to New Memphis but they won't get here in time. I would've had them in place earlier if I'd known we were going to get ambushed like this. Right now, those Special Forces are all we've got. They'll be here in about 10 minutes so we have to hold fast until then."

There was another roar of cannon fire on Mentieth's comms. "I hope those special forces are enough, sir."

"I can only hope so too, Colonel." Horvath said and signed off the comms.

Garrison didn't like the idea that they were only sending in a single unit to help. What use would one be against so many?

He couldn't find any good answers to the question as pink needler rounds glanced against his position, prompting him to repay the sender.

:********:

Twin jet-streams of green plasma splashed against the Scorpion tank that Duncan was hiding behind, melting the armor and setting it ablaze. He could tell it was about to blow. As the tank thundered a reply, he ran over to Razor-4, grabbed him by the shoulders and started dragging him away.

Two follow-up torpedoes struck the main gun. The entire Scorpion erupted into a firework show of flame and metal, taking the crew out with it.

The cannon, blown free of its housing, arced through the air and descended. Duncan barely dragged Razor-4 out of the way in time as the massive weapon crashed down less than a meter from them. He brought them into an artificial alleyway formed between four dead tanks from either side. His charge fired his pistol at a Grunt and Jackal that came racing in after them. While Razor-4 put a slug through the Grunt's eye, Duncan held his rifle one-handed and shot at the Jackal's feet. The avian entity lowered its shield to compensate, catching the bullets, then quickly repositioned for a better shot.

Duncan felt his rifle click, empty. He gritted his teeth as the Jackal prepared to fire its plasma pistol when a lead-round caught it in the hand, blowing off a few fingers and sending the G-shaped weapon flying. Razor-4 had gotten one last shot in before his pistol clicked empty as well.

It became a race to see who could finish the other off first. As the Jackal rushed for its pistol, Duncan dropped his rifle and took out his own, aimed and fired, sliding two rounds clean through its throat. The Jackal gave a gargled squawk and toppled over into a fit of bloody spasms. Duncan took the opportunity to slip a fresh clip into his sidearm.

"Got any spares?" Razor-4 asked.

Duncan reached into his utility belt and handed him a clip for his M6. "Thanks."

"1st Platoon, listen up!" The Staff said over comms. "This part of the sector's falling! We're moving back with the 2nd to Terminal C to hold there, move out!"

As everyone else began their retreat, Duncan hooked an arm around Razor-4's shoulder and helped him onto his feet. With the other ODST guarding their rear, Duncan helped him limp back towards the De Gaulle.

The way ahead was divided up by a roadway that split off into two curving directions at the large decorative pool surrounding the main atrium. One road curved along the front of A, B and C Terminals on the North Wing while the other angled along D, E and F on the South.

The surviving ODSTs and Marines were all falling back. Behind them, Scorpions fell prey to green explosions and steaming Warthog wrecks flew into the air, caught in the rampage of Hunters. The Covenant were right on their tail. They overtook and isolated pockets of left behind UNSC forces who were quickly wiped out.

Duncan pushed past the dead Scorpion near the intersection. He spotted several squads of Marines heading up the inclines of either roadway. Waving hands caught his attention. He saw Nova and Zack waving to him further up the left road. He quickly winked his acknowledgement light and started over, weaving through abandoned cars along the way while Razor-4 fired behind them. They were moving slower than everyone else. Duncan knew it couldn't be helped. He wasn't about to leave a man behind.

Midway up the road there was an explosion at their backs. Three pairs of Hunters gunned their way through the vehicular wreckage in their paths, blasting them aside. Elites stormed through them en masse, running and firing with precision. Several fleeing Marines around Duncan screamed as blots of plasma punched them in their backs and threw them over. He saw the closest, a Sergeant, stop and pivot around to return fire. "I'll cover you Helljumper, get going!"

Duncan nodded and did his best to gain ground while the Marine bought him some time. After two seconds there was a ZIP-sound accompanied by a light grunt from the Sergeant. He glanced back and saw the Marine lying on his side with a pink needler round jutting from his helmet. He ducked as Elites began rushing after him and fired his M6 in reply. Razor-4 tossed back a primed frag. It bounced into the midst of two Elites only five meters behind them and burst their shields, forcing them to move for cover. A sniper round caught one in the face and tossed it back.

"Move it, Ep-8!" Deaks said.

"Copy." Duncan grabbed Razor-4 and hefted him onto his shoulders. He was about to make a run for it when a plasma grenade landed a few meters away. It whined and exploded, picking the troopers up and hurdling them onto their stomachs.

Duncan felt dizziness wash over him. He forced himself back on his feet. He saw Razor-4 struggling to get up, grabbed him by the shoulders and started pulling him along, ignoring as needler and lead tracers flashed overhead.

Another Elite leaped out from behind an incinerated car to dash towards them. Duncan fired his pistol, Razor-4 doing the same. They battered the 2-meter-tall warrior's shields but it shot its Needler in exchange. The Elite's shield succumbed to the slugs just as Duncan heard several consecutive THUCKs. He looked down right as the quartet of pink needles lodged in Razor-4's chest glowed then detonated.

The blast of pink energy knocked Duncan onto his back, winding him. He gasped for breath, feeling his pistol skid away. He looked to his left and saw Razor-4 lying next to him. The trooper was sprawled out with a large, smoldering hole ripped into his stomach.

A shadow fell over him. Duncan immediately grabbed the man's pistol from his unmoving hands and took aim. The Elite running towards him was raising its Needler just as he pulled the trigger twice, putting two through its helmet. The warrior groaned and fell forward, landing at his feet. Duncan desperately forced himself back up. He took one last look at Razor-4, then ran for it.

1st and 2nd Platoons had formed positions in front of the doors of Terminal C. Duncan sprinted the rest of the way and hid behind one of the multiple support columns upholding the overhanging veranda. Deaks was next to him, kneeling and firing his SRS-99. "Where's Razor-4?"

Duncan shook his head. The Corporal nodded in quick understanding and turned back to lance a high caliber round through the skull of an onrushing Elite.

Duncan checked his smartlink. He only had 3 more rounds left. He looked over at the Northern Wing and saw Marines trying to hold their own further down the line. He looked to the South Wing and saw something similar playing out across the way.

Hector was standing nearby, flinching at three bolts of plasma that slashed at the column he was standing behind.

"Hey, Ep-4!"

Hector shot out two rockets from his launcher at a swarm of Grunts, then turned to him once they were sent sprawling from the explosion. "Yeah!?"

"Can I borrow your rifle?"

Hector tossed over his MA37. Duncan grabbed it out of the air and made sure it was full. He would have to make all 32 rounds count. He peeked out and fired in three-round bursts at a pair of Elites making their way over to them.

The Covenant were pushing up the two roads leading to the front of the De Gaulle. A lateral rainfall of plasma was flashing past. ODSTs and Marines fired back but dwindled in number while Grunts, Jackals and Elites streamed forward.

"Ep-2 to Ep-1, how much longer?"

"Ep-1 to Ep-5 and 6, are we set?" The Staff asked.

The comm crackled to life. "Ready." Yuri said simply. "Step inside and bring friends for cookies."

"Good to go." Rico added.

The Staff barked. "Helljumpers, get inside and take your positions! Move!"

Duncan lay down covering fire for Hector who released one last rocket into a nearby Hunter's shield, forcing it back. Then they both ran with everyone else. They passed through one of the ten automatic glass doors that slid open then closed behind them.

They spread out across the wide space before the doors to hide behind rows of chairs, several overturned vending machines and the vehicular rental counters hemming the sidewalls of Terminal C's frontmost concourse.

Duncan saw the rest of Epsilon huddling behind the counters on the left side and ran over. On the way he noticed multiple clusters of abandoned bags near the doors that hadn't been there before. He put the pieces together just as he vaulted over a counter and landed next to Nova.

"Are those what I think they are?" He asked.

Nova gave a subtle nod of her head. "A little gift for our guests, yes."

The Staff spoke over comms. "Here's the plan people. We let them inside, give'em a bloody nose and cut them down before they can regroup."

Captain Ortega, stationed with the rest of 2nd platoon on the upper concourse, spoke. "Retreat up here if you have to but don't take the escalators. Use the stairwells in the maintenance rooms off to the sides. Our reinforcements will be here in five minutes so we have to hold out until then."

The ODSTs used their HUDs to wink their acknowledgement lights. The Marines gave their thumbs up or shouted determined quips.

"We got you, Cap!"

"Bloody nose and broken bones, hey AJ?"

"Copy, lets give the Hunters a 1-2 to the balls, if they've got any."

"Doubt it."

"I bet they've got more than you, Sarge."

"Shut up and get that launcher up, Briggs."

:********:

Two of the doors to Terminal C slid open.

A single Grunt peeked inside. It took one hesitant step forward, looked around and saw only the wide, empty space. It didn't notice the fifty or so rifle muzzles staring back at it from the shadows. It walked inside, leading another five Grunts into the interior with it.

Duncan watched them disperse across the room from a small space between the counter he was hiding behind and the adjacent wall. They scattered about, investigating the chairs. One worryingly moved towards a cluster of bags.

"Not yet." The Staff said in a near whisper. "Wait for more to come in."

Next came the Hunters. Two pairs lumbered through the doors, bashing them down outright. Their spines rattled as the nodes on their assault cannons glowed with green energy. They scanned the room as well as the upper concourse.

A dozen Jackals and an equal number of Elites filtered past them with weapons raised as they fanned out across the room.

"Ep-3 to Ep-1, I've got eyes on a Major, over."

Duncan saw what Deaks had spotted; an Elite in orange armor shouting orders to its blue-armored subordinates in their strange, angry-sounding language.

"Ep-1 to 3, wait till we've got more in the bag."

There was a rustling noise above Duncan. He stiffened where he sat as a shadow appeared over him. He glanced up into the dark pupils of a Grunt that had crawled onto the counter. The alien stared right back down at him, equally confused. When it reached for its pistol, Duncan beat it to the draw and put a three-round burst through its head. Blue blood sprayed out over him as it fell dead on the counter.

A commotion arose within the concourse.

"Ep-1 to 6, blow it!"

The air was filled with the whine of priming devices, then lit up. The network of Antilon Anti-personnel Mines that Rico and Yuri had planted beneath the bags went off simultaneously, igniting the floor of the lowest concourse. The terminal was filled with the death screams of the enemy.

"Guns up!"

The ODSTs rose in unison. Duncan pushed the dead Grunt out of the way and homed in on the closest target. There were few to be spoken of as the smoke gradually cleared away to reveal the extent of the mines' effectiveness. Scores of Grunts, Jackals and Elites lay unmoving with missing limbs or as nothing more than blue stains on the tiled floor. But several massive silhouettes stood in the midst of the smoke.

All four Hunters had survived and stepped out into the open. They hustled together and formed a four-sided phalanx. Hector and a Marine loosed four rockets at the ad hoc formation. They thundered uselessly off the combined strength of their shields. The Hunters in turn discharged their cannons, bathing the area in rivers of emerald conflagration. Duncan had been firing at the exposed thigh of the nearest when it rounded on him, growled and hurled plasma his way. He ducked back as the wall behind him was set ablaze. The green flames flickered near his feet. He forced himself to ignore it, instead focusing on the '00' reading on his ammo-counter.

Nova finished firing a full magazine then crouched down beside him to reload. He elbowed her and got her attention. "Got any more mags?"

"Should've packed more before the trip, Ep-8." She slapped a fresh clip into her own rifle first then reached into her utility belt and handed over four more. He slipped one into the firing chamber, placed the other three on the floor, then stood up and went to work cutting down the numbers of Covenant flooding inside.

He gave two Grunts three in the face each, popped five through the back of an unsuspecting Jackal then generously gave ten more to an Elite's forehead just as its shields succumbed to overwhelming firepower. There was a flash of sniper fire and the Major who'd managed to survive near the Hunters stumbled back at the shot. Nova pumped half a magazine into its side and it fell away in a spray of blue blood.

A comet of green plasma launched from the cannon of one Hunter, flying across the room to strike a very unlucky Marine square in the stomach. The man simply disappeared. The blast enveloped two more squadmates nearby and sent several others sailing across the concourse.

The Staff growled over comms. "Focus on those Hunters! Counter from all sides!"

The Hunters again became the center of attention. From behind a counter, Rico stood up and shot out a grenade, letting it bounce into the midst of the four Goliaths. He let go of the trigger, shouting in ecstatic Spanish as the blast caught all four in their unarmored backs.

The rearmost stumbled onto all fours. Two 114-millimeter rounds speared through its unprotected back simultaneously as Deaks and Echo-5 singled it out. The alien gave a throaty gasp, doubled over and collapsed.

The small victory was short-lived as one of the giants saw the body and roared, its spines bristling with anger. It charged further into the room and shot a plasma torpedo into one of the counters, reducing it to fiery waste. It barely missed Rico. The other two fired their torpedoes as well.

The floor of the lower concourse quickly became a swamp of crackling, green flames. A torpedo struck the position of a squad of Marines on the other side of a row of seats. Four literally flew apart. The last one was left lying on the floor with third degree burns. He screamed at the top of his lungs and clutched at his scorched face, accidentally pulling off patches of crumbling skin. Duncan did his best to suppress the Hunter nearest to him while another Marine shouldered the man and ran for the maintenance door leading to the upper level.

More Covenant came pouring through the doors. Duncan was eventually forced to crouch down to avoid the growing barrage slashing overhead.

"Ep-1 to Echo-1, pull back! We're taking this to the next level!"

"Copy your last!" Joels said. "It was getting too hot down here anyway."

Nova bumped Duncan on the shoulder and he nodded back, grabbed his last magazines and shuffled behind her and the rest of Epsilon. They headed into the maintenance door at the end of the row of counters. On the opposite side, Echo was doing the same.

Rico shut the door behind them and planted a motion-sensitive claymore at the hinges. They jogged up the stairwell inside, strode out onto the upper concourse and joined 2nd platoon at the railing.

The Covenant were already swarming over the lower level. A number of them made for the four escalators, the most obvious route up.

Rico waited with detonator in hand as more clambered up the steps. Then as the closest Elite came within a few meters of the top, he thumbed the switch.

Multiple fireballs erupted into full bloom, spiraling up the escalators from top to bottom like hellish serpents wrapping their coils around their newest victim. Several dozen Covenant were consumed in a flash.

Duncan saw Rico and Yuri out of the corner of his eye as they high fived each other. But looking over the rails, the numbers surging onto the lower floor made taking out the escalators seem like a moot point.

:********:

They came in waves.

Each one flowed forward then ebbed away, leaving a wake of bright blue blood after they were battered back. The ODSTs and Marines shot their last rockets and caused splashes of smoke and fire within the living tides.

The main problem came from the three Hunters left standing. They unleashed streams of plasma at the ledges to keep them from firing down on the crowds. Soon enough the entire railing was set aflame with no way to approach.

Finally, one of the maintenance room doors flew open. An Elite sprinted out, firing directly at Captain Ortega. The Captain threw himself onto his stomach, presenting a smaller target while firing his DMR. He gave it three to the head, breaking its shields until he pushed a final round through its brain. As it toppled back, he spotted Grunts coming up the steps behind it. The Captain tossed a frag into the room. Fragmentation dismembered and disemboweled the fodder creatures inside. "1-Actual to Ep-1, this concourse is compromised! Let's haul it to the last level!"

"I hear you, Captain!" The Staff said. "Everyone fall back! Fall back now!"

Epsilon and Echo covered 2nd platoon's retreat up the set of escalators first then followed close behind.

The last of the Marines were waiting on the top of the final concourse. Only eight were left. Even with the ODSTs' numbers, it still wasn't likely to be enough.

They all took a position behind the service counters leading to Starport Security Checkpoints on the other side. If necessary, they could fall back there, Duncan knew. On the other hand, if they did then the Covenant were likely to storm throughout the rest of the Starport. He quickly realized that this was their line in the sand, their last stand. They either held this position, or they died here. Maybe both.

The sound of something large breaking caught everyone's attention. The rhythmic creaking of stressed metal came to ear.

"Ep-1 to Ep-7, any update on those reinforcements?"

"They're saying they're almost here, sir."

"Tell them to double-time it. We need back-up ASAP."

"Copy."

The noise grew louder. It became obvious the closer it came that they were very heavy footsteps.

The heads of the Hunters appeared first, each slowly stalking up one of the four escalators. They marched up the steps, crushing the metal beneath their boots. Once they reached the top, they got out of the way for the rest of the Covenant forces coming behind them to storm out over the floor.

The space quickly evolved into a lightshow of plasma and needles that whined past their ballistic cousins.

Duncan heard shouting and saw two Grunts making a break for his counter, both carrying plasma grenades primed in either hand. Terrified, he shot one in the face. The moment it flipped back and its grenades hit the floor, he ducked behind his counter.

The twin detonations rattled his skull. Two more blew right after as the first Grunt accidentally took out the second. By the end of it, he found himself barely able to hear. His sight blurred. The world around him felt tilted. Still he got back up and spent his magazine into the shield of an oncoming Jackal. The last shot caught it in the wrist. It winced and its shield dropped slightly.

Nova finished it off with a three-round burst to the head. She peered over at Duncan and asked him something, although he couldn't tell what. Someone else said his name. He couldn't bring himself to focus on them. He forced his last magazine into his rifle and fired full auto over the ringing in his own ears as the enemy drew closer.

"This is Sierra 117 to surviving UNSC forces, friendlies coming in."

It was a deep, male voice. He couldn't tell how he'd heard it over everything else zipping past his helmet.

A shadow passed overhead. He looked up to see a Pelican zoom over the glass-ceiling above them, its hanger door open. Four figures jumped out midflight. They landed on the rooftop, their impact cracking the bulletproof glass.

Duncan upped his visor magnification and still had no clue who they were.

They weren't Marines, but they wore a green armor he'd never seen before. They weren't ODSTs either, although they wore visors whose golden sheen stared down at the firefight beneath them.

Three of them hooked cables onto the roof while one used their SRS-99 to shoot through a section of cracked glass, shattering it.

The other three rappelled down the cables while firing their rifles down at the gathering of Covenant.

Duncan's hearing slowly cleared up. He could hear the others shouting.

"Who're these guys!?" Hector asked over comms.

The Staff was speechless for a moment. "…Keep firing! Just keep firing!"

Duncan couldn't help wondering if these were their reinforcements.

He watched them land. They were unbelievably tall, closer to the Elites in height at around 2 meters. He didn't get much more of a look because they suddenly sprinted across the room at dizzying speeds. He was barely able to keep up as the figures strafed the area around them, gunning down anything that wasn't human. One armed with a DMR used the butt of the weapon to crack an Elite in the face, breaking its shields and causing it to cough up thick azure blood, then zipped a round clean through its forehead. While it was still falling, its killer got back to work on another.

Despite their speed they somehow moved in tandem, switching like shadows from one position to the next, always avoiding return fire while picking off one target after another. All the while their sniper smote Elite officers with bolts of lightning- fast rounds that always found their mark, like a God passing judgement from on high. One such judgement dictated that one of the Hunters should die and achieved its edict as it shot through its neck. The goliath groaned and fell back, the worms within writhing then dying slowly.

In under 30 seconds, half of the Covenant on the final concourse were reduced to piles of corpses. The other half began focusing less on the ODSTs and more on this new threat.

The troopers still didn't back down. However, the difficulty didn't come from the enemy, but these new allies.

Duncan found that every time he had an Elite or Grunt in his sights, it would already be shaking under a steady stream of fire or flipping over as the sniper nailed them from above.

He saw the last Elite succumb to a shotgun firing into its face point blanc, the alien never having seen its killer until they were right in front of it.

Only the last two Hunters were left standing. They held up their shields to block the sniper fire coming from overhead.

One of the green, armored figures hurled a frag in between them, forcing them to separate before the blast could harm them.

Two of the other figures leaped out from cover to land on the floor, both near an individual Hunter. In that brief moment, Duncan could recognize that one had a more masculine physique while the other had a more feminine build, although both seemed extremely muscular beneath the layer of black material just below their armor components. Unless he was mistaken, he thought he saw a rabbit emblem on the female's chest-plate beside a number: '087'.

The two sprinted towards the separated Hunters at speeds Duncan couldn't follow.

The female was faster and reached her target first. The Hunter saw her coming and leaped towards her, raising its shield-arm to swat her away. But as its arm arced down, the armored woman grabbed a hold of the shield itself. Once the arm swung back up from the blow, she let go, allowing the momentum to carry her into the air. She flew five meters up, summersaulted and landed on top of the alien, planting both boots squarely on either shoulder. The Hunter growled and reached up for her. Before it could, she pulled the pin on a grenade, grabbed its helmet, reeled back with the other hand then ploughed it deep into the orange flesh. She backflipped off its shoulders and landed behind it. The larger automaton turned to face her when an explosion inside decapitated it, spewing out chunks of orange gore onto the floor. It took one stumbling step forward then collapsed.

The armored male meanwhile leaped aside to evade a stream of plasma from the Hunter. He kept running without breaking stride. He got close enough for the giant to counter-charge, swinging its cannon arm. The 'man' ducked beneath the lateral blow, then just as easily pulled himself to the side in one-fluid movement to sidestep a chopping motion from the shield. He didn't flinch as the massive barrier crashed only a few centimeters away, instead bounding forward to slam an active grenade deep into its torso. The Hunter staggered back and swiped again with its shield. The man barrel-rolled out of harm's way in time for the grenade's explosion.

The detonation tore out half the worms in the behemoth's torso. It fell to a knee. As it did, its assailant ran up from behind, leaped and landed on its back to slip another grenade into its remaining flesh. He then kicked off from the creature, forcing it onto its stomach.

Another explosion spewed gouts of torn worms into the air. The Hunter's groans ebbed away, leaving the room unnervingly quiet save for the distant sounds of battle.

Duncan blinked. He blinked again. Despite how many times he did, his eyes wouldn't allow him to dispel the landscape of dead Covenant before him as some dream.

He saw the others also staring at the four armored figures. The Marines, lacking visors, had their mouths partially agape, eyes wide.

They gradually stepped out into the open. They watched their 'reinforcements' return to a walking speed that could be considered 'human'. Two of them, the female and another male, jogged up to the edge of the concourse and took up overwatch positions.

The third, the man that killed the last Hunter was talking to the sniper after she'd rappelled down to the concourse. They looked like they were talking on some private commlink. Then the sniper, with the number '058' on her chest piece, strode off to join the others.

The last armored figure turned to face the ODSTs and Marines that were slowly approaching. He began to walk towards them as well. Duncan immediately stopped in his tracks, his hair standing on end. Everyone else stopped as well.

The voice from before came in over comms. "Who's in charge here?"

Everyone turned to the Staff and Captain Ortega. Both men looked at each other then back at him. "Ugh…I'm guessing that'd be you." The Staff said. "And you'd be?"

The man looked between Ortega and the Staff for a moment. As he did, Duncan noticed the number on his left breastplate. It was three white numerals that contrasted against the rest of the green armor: '117'.

A status update appeared on Duncan's HUD. He scrutinized it. It was the symbol of the UNSC eagle with two stars over each elevated wing and two crossed anchors beneath its talons: The Navy insignia of a Master Chief Petty Officer.

Duncan instinctively stood at attention. He saw the others do the same, giving this man their full focus.

Yet Duncan caught sight of something beneath the rank designation. It was the unit designation. It was odd, he'd never heard of a 'Spartan' before. Was that what these four were? If so, he'd never heard of them, and couldn't help wondering why.

"Well…Chief, looks like we're all yours." Ortega said.

The Master Chief nodded. "Good. The rest of my teams are currently engaged around the Starport. We need to push out and secure this sector, and I want you troopers and Marines to help. Think you can keep up?"

The Staff nodded. "If what we saw just now is anything to go by then we shouldn't have a hard time at all. Lead on, Master Chief."

Spartana - Spartan


	28. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 9 (Improbos liberetis)

Chapter 9 - Improbos liberetis

September 16th, 2544 (09:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Matin Province, Continent of Vitre

Provincial Capital of New Memphis, De Gaulle Starport

:********:

The Master Chief scanned the front doors to Terminal C with his MA5B. So far all he could see were the waves of Covenant dead carpeting the road beyond. He checked his motion sensor and saw only the yellow dots of the friendly forces gathered behind him. The way was clear, at least for another 25 meters. There was no guarantee past that point what would be waiting for them. There was still fighting going on across the Apron since not all of the UNSC forces had retreated into the De Gaulle. The gunfire was a good sign. It meant that the Western Defense still had a pulse.

Inside the De Gaulle was an even better story. Thanks to the other teams, UNSC forces were rallying across the Starport. Green-1 reported that his team was working with Helljumpers to push back the enemy from Terminals E and F while Red-1 was ready to launch a breakout from Terminal D.

It was best to launch Blue Team's breakout in conjunction with the others. That way the remaining Covenant would face a fight on both sides of the Starport: a two-sided pincer maneuver.

One of his Spartans crouched down at the door next to him to look outside. He saw the familiar number '104' on his breast plate, not that he needed it to know who it was. His willingness to step up beside him with his DMR reflected his natural tendency to lead, to take point and jump into the fray with a clear head, making him perfect as his second in command, and the de facto leader of Blue Team in his stead.

"We ready for the push yet, Chief?" Fred asked, sounding confident and a little eager behind the visor of his Commando helmet.

"We're just waiting on Green Team to move into position. Then we'll make our move."

Another of his Spartans stood against the opposite side of the room and started slotting fresh shells into her shotgun. Kelly still had a splash of Hunter blood on the visor of her EVA helmet. "Knowing Will, he's probably taking his time hunting down Grunts. Leave no gas tank unturned, that's what I say." She pumped a round into the chamber. "If they didn't like playing dead so much then there wouldn't be a problem."

The Master Chief switched to a private commlink. "How's the weather up there, Blue-4?"

"Sunny with a chance of plasma bombardment." Replied a cool, tranced voice. The Chief could tell right away that Blue-4 had gone through the mental freezer that locked her into a steely-eyed focus through her rifle scope. He'd sent her back on top of the De Gaulle after learning more about the situation outside with Captain Ortega.

"How many are we looking at?" He asked.

"By my count, 150 Grunts, 80 shield Jackals, 55 Elites and 6 Hunters. I'm guessing they're just the back-up. They're holding near the pool in front of the atrium."

"Snipers?"

"About 4 between 2 and 3 kilometers away."

"Prioritize. I'm giving Green-1 another minute then we're moving in."

"Copy."

There was the crack of sniper fire, then another followed by a protracted silence.

"I only heard two." Chief said.

"You know how I am with ricochets, Chief." Linda replied. "Enemy overwatch is out of commission. On your go, Blue-1."

"Roger." The Chief looked back at the others. The ODSTs and Marines were finishing up collecting extra ammo from the dead on the lower level.

The Chief knew that had his team arrived even a minute later then there might not have been anyone left alive at all. That didn't spare him from the sight of the dead Marines whose bodies were burned almost beyond recognition. Their comrades refused to look at their faces as they scrounged magazines off their scorched BDU's.

The Chief also knew that had they arrived sooner, more of them would still be alive. Worse yet, and as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't as focused on the current mission as he otherwise should be.

In the weeks since the Spartans' arrival on Miridem they had been constantly on the move from one engagement between the UNSC and Covenant to another.

Their efforts culminated in the most recent civilian HVI extraction operation in the Eastern Hemisphere, a mission to rescue someone from Miridem whose importance to the Spartans couldn't be understated. She was the very reason that the Master Chief and his team were Spartans to begin with. And now she was in enemy hands.

Only a week ago when UNSC forces officially began their evacuation to the Western Hemisphere, the Spartans were riding rough shot from one evac site to the next to assist in the mass migration of civilians and military personnel. Their efforts mainly revolved around the elevated cities in the highly populated Crêt de la Neige Mountain Ranges lining the interior of Vitre's continental neighbor, Erbée. They had been holding off Covenant at the last evac point of New Bordeaux when the call came in that a high priority individual needed immediate extraction, one by the name of Dr. Catherine Halsey.

The strain of that moment was, and would likely always be, unbearable. He kept it to himself, however, so the others wouldn't worry about him, although he knew there was a good chance that they felt it too. But they couldn't simply abandon the mission, to risk losing tens of thousands to save one. Yet it was the Doctor, and it was that kind of reasoning that made him hesitate. He made the judgement call to send out just one Spartan, Green-4, to assist. Sheila-065 was an apt fighter and an even more efficient butcher when it came to close quarters combat. So the news stabbed him like a knife to the stomach when he found out later that she'd been killed by an Elite Major with an energy sword while trying to evacuate Dr. Halsey.

He'd made the call. Whether it was the right or wrong one he couldn't tell, but in the end, it had allowed him to save thousands of lives at the cost of the two he'd known personally. Since then he'd contended with a pang of regret that wouldn't leave him alone. The best he could do was push it aside for the sake of the next mission. So he did and left it in a compartmentalized part of his mind that he'd reserved for such moments, like what had happened to his friend Sam back at Chi Ceti IV. There would either be time to address it later, or there wouldn't. Right now, as had been the case for the last 19 years, it would have to be the latter.

"Green-1 to Blue-1, Terminal's E and F are secured. We're ready."

The voice on his comms stirred him from his thoughts. "Copy. On my go, Spartans." The Chief nodded to the others in the concourse and held up a gauntleted hand. He counted down on his fingers from three. At one, he balled it into a tight fist. "Go!"

In half a second, he'd cleared the doors and come out onto the curving road. Fred was right behind him while Kelly was already sprinting ahead.

The nearest Covenant were a squad of four Elites and twice as many Grunts. The Spartans trained their fire on the former. By the time the Grunts realized what was happening, three of the Elites were already lying dead on the ground. Kelly cannon-balled into the fourth, using the full weight of her MJOLNR armor to break its shields on impact. She pumped a shotgun shell into its stunned face, painting the ground beneath with blue blood.

As she reloaded, The Chief and Fred sprinted past, firing into the throngs of Grunts who only now were starting to run away in panic.

"Demons!" One shouted in discernably frantic English before it was cut down in a hail of assault rifle fire. The rest of the Grunts shared a similar fate.

The Chief used the stock of his rifle to cave in the last one's skull then turned his attention to the way ahead. More Covenant were stationed along the curving road with the bulk of their forces coalesced near the large pool in front of the atrium. Gunfire started up at the South Wing. He upped his visor magnification and spotted Red Team. Five of his Spartans were engaged with a Hunter pair at the entrance to Terminal D. Further along, Green-1 through 6 punched through a marching band of shield Jackals with grenades. Multiple Marines and ODSTs were pushing up just behind them.

The Chief glanced back and saw the Marines on his end were only just beginning to stream outside. The ODSTs were already behind him, however. They really were keeping up. It was a good sign.

Blots of green and blue plasma flashed past. The Chief ducked, rolled towards cover and returned fire, dropping two Jackals that had leaped out from behind a nearby truck. More were still on their way up. A platoon's worth of Jackals was on the move and held up their shields to form an indominable phalanx. More Grunts and Elites fired from behind their energy barriers.

"Frags?" Fred asked.

"No." The Chief said. He could tell by their numbers that grenades wouldn't be of any use. He spotted two heavy duty trucks on either side of the road. He pointed to them then to Fred and himself. Fred nodded in understanding and they both ran over to them. They grabbed a hold of the vehicles and powerlifted them onto their sides. They gripped their undercarriages and slid the trucks together to form a shield wall of their own.

The Chief waved over to Kelly and the others. "Move up, we'll advance using the trucks to disrupt their formation."

Everyone stood back, stunned at first, except for Kelly who got into a firing position between Fred's truck and the guard rail. They quickly followed her example and ran over, using the small amounts of space between the two trucks as fields of fire while the vehicles' sizes acted as cover, making them both the perfect offensive and defensive tools. The Chief and Fred pushed forward despite the counter-push of plasma fire that poured against the trucks and seared their frames.

The ODSTs and Marines returned the favor two-fold. The ODSTs focused on the Elites whose energy shields crackled under the coordinated bursts. Two fell at a time at the hands of the shock troopers while Marines crouch-walked beneath them, firing into the exposed legs of the shield-wielding Jackals. After forty seconds and twenty meters of advance, they'd whittled down the shield wall into pockets that grew more isolated with each Jackal shot. And with each meter taken the enemy formation was forced further back, unwilling to clash their energy shields against the 16-ton barriers that the Spartans wielded like paper weights. What probably added to their growing sense of unease was the increasing number of their dead kin being dragged along because of it.

An Elite Major ran up to take charge of the situation when it was met with a sniper round, courtesy of Blue Team's resident deadeye, that zipped through its helmet and into the tarmac at its feet before it could say a word. The sight of their dead leader caused the remaining Jackals to panic and break ranks. They fled alongside the Grunts as the ODSTs and Marines shot them many of them in the back.

No sooner were they retreating than a Hunter pair came lumbering up the road. The surviving Jackals split around them like a river around rocks, and those that failed to do so were left as crushed corpses in their wake.

The Chief held up a hand to halt the advance. The counterattack stopped in its tracks, watching the Hunters pound towards them. Both fired their assault cannons which baptized the vehicular cover in emerald flames. Still, the Chief waited until the Hunters were less than 5 meters away. They roared in anticipation as he clenched his hand into a fist.

Both he and Fred pulled the two trucks aside simultaneously, creating an opening between the Hunters and Kelly's bounding form. Ever the fastest, she shot past, leaped into the air and arced over the lead Hunter to fire a shotgun blast into its back. The Hunter grunted as it stumbled forward between the two trucks.

"Now!"

The Chief and Fred pulled both vehicles with all their strength to slam the behemoth between them, pinning it in the middle of their burning bumpers. It groaned under the stress while fires began spreading over its body.

"Back off!"

Both Spartans rolled away a moment before the trucks' fuel tanks ignited. The resulting-explosions launched burning shrapnel high into the air along with the severed upper-half of the Hunter. It landed a few meters from Kelly who was already busy dancing with its partner.

She leaped out of the way of a swing from its assault cannon and swiveled into a kneeling position to shoot it in the side. It growled, swinging again and missing as she rolled to her left then hit its midsection with two more blasts. The Hunter back-pedaled then immediately reversed course for a charge, raising its shield high then bringing it down on the Spartan like a guillotine.

Kelly didn't dodge, instead dropping her shotgun to catch its shield with both hands. Catching the blow forced her into a squat as she strained every muscle in her body to hold it up. The Hunter strained as well, pushing it further down on top of her. Kelly grunted, swept one of her legs down the slanting road behind her to position herself, then suddenly pivoted. The armored behemoth groaned in confusion as she used its greater weight and the gradual slant of the road against it, twisting around to pull it off of its center of gravity. It crashed onto its back, cracking the tarmac. Its spines bristled in anger as it tried getting back up, but she quickly reversed her grip on its shield to hold the creature in place. It continued to struggle. When it saw it that it couldn't get free the behemoth aimed its assault cannon at her.

The Master Chief slid in right before it could discharge and held down the deadly limb, forcing it to loose a torpedo into the air instead.

Several ODSTs and Marines gathered around to pour a barrage of assault rifle fire into the alien's wormy stomach. It struggled harder, roaring in defiance, then fell silent as its struggles died away beneath the hail of gunfire.

With the Hunters down, everyone's attention shifted to the road further ahead and the Chief as he jogged onward. The others quickly fell in behind the Spartans as they cut down a small blockade of Grunts at the halfway mark that made a pitiful attempt at holding them back.

Green and Red Teams were both making their way down the adjacent roadway with several platoons of Marines and a few Shock Trooper squads. Four well placed SPANKR rockets kicked away the barrier of Elites in their way, leaving them with an open route to the Apron.

Before them stood the last large gathering of Covenant forces: nearly 100 Grunts, 40 Jackals, 20 Elites and the last Hunter Pair left on the West side of the De Gaulle. They huddled in several pockets of dead Wraiths and Scorpions that, in reality, granted them little cover.

"Red-1 to Blue-1, we see you."

The Chief looked over and spotted one of his Spartans waving from the other road. Blue blood covered the '9' on his chest as well as the visor of his Operator Helmet, the sign of a hard day's work. Joshua-029, the leader of Red Team, was busy finishing off an Elite but was able to hail his commanding officer regardless. Green-1, William-043, rushed past him with another Spartan, James-005, both hefting rocket launchers. They jumped atop a delivery truck, crouched and fired another quartet of rockets that screamed over to the last Hunters who brought their shields to bare. But the rockets were purposefully aimed at their feet and slammed into the tarmac beneath them. The two giants disappeared for a moment in the successive explosions then reappeared as they fell forward with boiled innards.

"That's the last Hunters." Will said, sounding cheery. "Green-1 to Blue-1, its spring-time and we're looking at easy pickings."

"Copy." The Chief said. "Is Red-3 in place?"

On his HUD, Malcolm-059's acknowledgement light winked green. "Sniper overwatch is in place over Terminal C." Malcolm said with a relaxedness that was almost akin to Linda's. "I've got 16 rounds up here Blue-1, just tell me where you want me to put'em."

"Work with Blue-4 to target their officers. I want their leadership neutralized before we move in. We'll take advantage of the chaos."

"Understood."

"Just don't miss this time." Linda said. "We're looking at ten Officers here and I've still got the higher headcount since New Bordeaux."

"I told you that's only 'cause I ran out of ammo." Malcom said, sounding like he was mustering up his courage. "I'm taking you down this time Linda-deary. Ten Officers is probably enough to-"

A shot rang out.

"You talk too much." Linda said. "That's nine officers now."

"Oh no you don't." Malcolm growled and fired as well. The Master Chief watched the two snipers pick off the orange armored Elites across the area. He could tell who had shot which. One second between one shot and its follow-up was usually Malcolm. Linda was a different story, however. Two Elites standing a dozen meters apart would fall simultaneously as they were struck through the head by her precision. It was so fast that he couldn't exactly tell which she'd targeted first, but he saw the pattern repeated enough times to know it was her doing.

Less than seven seconds had passed by the time the last officer hit the ground with a third eye drilled through its forehead.

"That's seven by my count." Linda said with a hint of pride in her voice that turned to faint mockery. "How about you, Red-3?"

"…Red-3 to Blue-1, you're clear to move in, over."

"You're a sore loser when you're ready, Red-3. Nice try blowing it off though."

"I didn't lose, I just let you win."

"Keep telling yourself that, maybe it'll be true one day."

The Chief turned to the rest of Blue Team and the remaining UNSC forces at his back. He was surprised to see that more Marines and Helljumpers were coming from Terminal A and B to join them, likely having fought their way through their own firefights within the Starport. Extra back-up was always appreciated.

He nodded to Kelly and Fred who nodded back in turn, then sprinted out into the open.

"Go!"

The Spartans of Blue, Red and Green Teams dashed out to tango with the last of the Covenant forces. Some 200 surviving Marines, half as many displaced armored personnel with rifles and 50 Helljumpers itching for a fight joined them in battering a decapitated force less than half their number.

Will and James fired a third quartet of rockets ahead of them to add to the mixture of tracers, needles and plasma that created a cascade of flying death. A dozen Grunts were caught in the blasts. Their high-pitched squeals rang out as UNSC forces swept back across the battlefield, rolling Elites and Jackals under a tidal wave of gunfire. Some fired back, managing to catch a few Marines in the gut with bursts of plasma and the occasional detonation of Needlers. The Spartans moved from cover to cover, shifting in tandem to gun down the holdouts across the area. All the while, Linda and Malcolm kept targeting troublemakers armed with Fuel Rod Cannons to mitigate casualties.

The Chief ran, shooting through three Jackals then tossing a frag into the midst of another trio along the way. There was an explosion and death screeches thereafter. Fred and Kelly were right behind him, covering him at speeds of 80 kilometers per hour as they circumvented the pocket of enemy forces. In another 20 meters they would reach their rear position and make sure that none escaped. The way he understood it, in a war of extermination, the only real way to win was to make sure you wiped out the other side completely, and they were about to do just that.

They were 5 meters away when he spotted four red blips on his HUD. They were close, too close. He snapped his rifle to his left as an Elite leaped at him from the shadow of an upturned Wraith. It proved faster and arced its energy dagger through his rifle, slicing it clean in half.

The Chief quickly coiled his own arm around its sword arm with the speed of a cobra, grabbed its wrist and swept out its left leg with his own. He twisted, using the Elite's own momentum to slam it into the tarmac headfirst, bursting its shields on impact. He swiftly whipped out his M6 and put two rounds clean through the back of its head. As his first assailant fell away, three more Elites rushed out to face them.

"Fred!"

"On it!"

Fred tossed out a flashbang. There was a flash of light and a crack of thunder. The Spartans picked their targets and fired.

:********:

The De Gaulle was secured.

With the help of the Spartans, the last Covenant forces were routed across the Starport, making New Memphis the last city left on Miridem under human control, a city which the UNSC were currently in the process of abandoning.

What followed over the course of the next seven hours was the largest gathering of human beings Duncan had ever witnessed. Around 30% of the planet's remaining citizenry were brought in either by foot, ground transportation or starship.

The surviving UNSC forces didn't even have the time to clear out the bodies of the last battle as the first civilian ship arrived from the East. Then one was coming in every five minutes from any given direction.

There were Star Charter and Odyssey Class colony ships as well as Parabola and Mariner Class Freighters now occupying the refueling stations. By 1600 Hours, over 140 transport ships of various girths and lengths occupied the Apron in addition to those 20 already at the De Gaulle.

The local populations of New Memphis were also drained from shelters and Marine FOBs across the city. They were being bussed to the Starport in preparation to send them on a one-way trip to anywhere but here.

While the Spartans and Marines held the outer perimeter of the De Gaulle, 1st Platoon was redeployed to supervise civilians inside Terminal D.

As Duncan walked with Zack along the lanes that divided up the crowds within the waiting areas, he couldn't help noticing one thing: the smell. The throngs of men, women and children sitting around him likely hadn't showered in the last several days.

The reason why there were only 30% of the remaining population here now, compared to the 70% earlier in the morning, was because while UNSC forces in New Memphis were occupied with the De Gaulle, in space more than half the number of survivors were being hunted down.

The call to retreat to Vitre came the moment the Covenant began to break into the exosphere over the neighboring landmasses of the West as well as the Northern Pole where those fleeing from the East had been seeking refuge for some time. But the civilian ships far outnumbered any frigate escorts that Vice Admiral Tursk' fleet could provide. What ensued was a massacre, one that pilots who had fought at the Battle of Midway, if they were still alive today, would have called a 'Turkey Shoot'.

A large majority of Starships that couldn't be shepherded by the Navy chose to defy Tursk' orders not to flee the planet without protection. They'd made a desperate break for it and discovered the hard way why no had been allowed to leave. Elements of the second Covenant Fleet flanked those ships and hunted them down between the thermosphere and exosphere like wolves among sheep. It wasn't pretty. Reports buzzing around SATCOM estimated that 1 ship managed to escape from Miridem's gravity well for every 5 destroyed.

Right now, Duncan was looking into the tired eyes of those 30% whose ship captains had made the hard choice to head for New Memphis. It was hard because there was still a chance they could die here. It was just less of a guarantee than flying straight up into the range of fire of some Covenant battlecruiser lurking in the upper atmosphere.

He didn't want to think about what the destruction actually entailed in terms of sheer numbers, but it had to be in the millions, and millions more if they didn't get the evacuation underway. And even that would have to be sooner than expected.

Due to the Navy's worsening plight, Tursk' fleet had been reduced to several battlegroups holding a loose perimetral orbit of 3,000 square kilometers over the city. Everything else beyond that was in Covenant hands now, and there was no telling when the final push would come. For that reason, Tursk ordered the evacuation to begin in three hours, prompting ships to refuel and temporarily offload a few thousand of their nearly 2 million passengers while they conducted necessary maintenance. Adding the population of New Memphis itself and they were easily looking at a mass exodus of around 3 million people.

"Think the ships are enough for all that?" Zack asked on a private channel on the heels of their conversation about the numbers.

"I'd hope so." Duncan said. "They brought them this far didn't they?"

"Yeah, but that was before they added everybody in New Memphis. The evac before this one got a good 2 million to safety during the first 2 days. We've only got 2 hours."

"We'll have to make it work. We don't have a choice."

"We could sure use some of that Irish luck right about now."

Duncan ignored him as he turned his attention further up the lane that they were patrolling. There were a number of hospital cots that had been rolled out with patients lying down on them. Both UNSC medics and civilian medical staff were treating those who'd suffered from various illnesses caused from being packed like sardines with other human beings for the last week. He saw a few kids on ventilators and couldn't help thinking of Noah. He banished the thought before it could go any further and focused on something else, particularly the medical staff as they passed by. His platoon didn't actually have a medic, only Nova who applied her technical know-how about machines to people. He didn't doubt her abilities per say. That said, he'd put some thought into it after what happened to Yuri at the Saint Adelemus. He realized that they needed someone who could expertly put a person back together on the spot. Considering what it was like to go toe to toe with the Covenant on the ground, that last idea wasn't a figure of speech at all.

Speaking of Nova, her and the Staff were watching over the gathering from the rows of windows lining the far wall. Duncan and Zack made their way over, nodding in turn.

"How much longer, Staff?" Zack whined. "I feel like we've been at this all day."

"Because we have." The Staff said. "Tursk said three hours so its three hours."

"Yeah, but he said that…three hours ago. Why don't I see anyone moving?"

"Probably because you're not looking outside." Nova said, looking outside.

The others joined her in peering out the window. Past the sprawling forests of hulking Starships occupying the Apron were a set of four of the elongated jet-like variants moving towards four individual runways.

Duncan watched closely as the Starships moved into place with the guidance of a few Marines. The nearest control tower a kilometer away looked operational. He used his visor magnification to spot the silhouettes of at least a dozen personnel hard at work on their consular stations to get the evacuation underway.

More of the civilians began huddling near the windows to watch the first outbound flights. The farthest starship started up its rear engines first and zoomed down the runway. It reached 500 meters before taking off. It accelerated into the air and disappeared past the clouds. The second Starship sped along after it then launched into the atmosphere. The last two mirrored the first. In less than two minutes all four were well out of sight.

There were cheers and excited laughs throughout Terminal D. Some of the parents pointed out the sky for their kids and promised them they would be going soon. Duncan watched the children's eyes light up with a flicker of hope.

The airways above New Memphis were clear. There was nothing but a straight shot to safety from here.

Then there was a flash of blue light in the distant sky near the outskirts. It faded quickly, only to be seconded by another from a different direction, then two more right after.

Nothing happened for ten long seconds.

Then there came another flash of light, this one orange and red, illuminating the clouds directly above the De Gaulle. Three more flashes came immediately after. Duncan heard it as did everyone else: four supersonic booms.

There was another ten seconds of silence until the first comet appeared. It was large and screamed down towards the surface at high speeds. They watched it crash several blocks away, leveling an entire skyscraper and leaving behind a smoky cloud of debris.

Three more comets burst through the afternoon clouds. Their familiar metal surfaces were white-hot.

Duncan dared look at the nearest children and noticed that the parents hadn't hidden their eyes yet, because they were also looking on in horror. Whatever hope had been in the eyes of their kids was gone now, replaced by the sight of the Starships that had taken off minutes earlier now crashing down towards the surface of Miridem.

:********:

For that second time today, Lieutenant Colonel Garrison found himself standing in the De Gaulle's Command Room, although this time with the other five most consequential people left in the solar system.

Major General Horvath and Colonel Mentieth were both present. Then there was a woman Garrison had met before and knew well enough to recognize her resigned face and Mediterranean features.

Lieutenant Commander Riat Cordova stood amongst the line-up of officers. She was dressed in the ONI sanctioned version of the Helljumper BDU and held her Recon helmet against her hip as she listened to the conversation. She'd been on Miridem for the last week doing God knows what. Garrison still wasn't sure how he felt about her being here either given what her presence implied as a result.

Then there was the man in the room whose features he couldn't read at all thanks to his golden visor. Garrison couldn't help feeling a modicum of unease towards the green-armored demigod that had the official UNSC designation of a Spartan. The Master Chief, the leader of the special forces that acted as their reinforcements earlier, stood at ramrod attention. He garnered more than a few curious glances from everyone else in the room, everyone except the man at the heart of the conversation.

His two-dimensional image was displayed over the holotank. The hair peeking out from beneath his navy cap was graying just like his salt and pepper moustache. His gray-colored eyes had circles around them. Yet Garrison felt that they failed to convey how tired the man probably was as he explained the situation to them from the bridge of his ship, the UNSC Swiftsure.

Vice Admiral Berlin M. Tursk sighed with a depth of strain and exhaustion that spoke volumes. "There's no way around it. We can only keep sending more ships up and hope that some of them make it. That's our best option going forward."

The judgement of the man with the highest authority in Ulterin was enough to shock everyone else into silence for a moment.

Mentieth spoke first. "Sir, what about a coordinated Archer Missile strike? That could at least level the playing field somewhat."

"We tried that." Tursk said. "The moment the first Starships were shot down I had the Churchill, Magellon and even my own ship launch a barrage on all 8 of those AAs. When the smoke cleared, the Guns were still there."

"Longswords?" Garrison asked, stepping up. "You could spare a few of the Squadrons down here to deliver a precision bombardment. Isn't that still on the table?"

Tursk shook his head. An image appeared next to him showing the city of New Memphis from satellite view including the surrounding forestry up to 5 kilometers away. Pinpoints of light highlighted eight dots in the outskirts, a pair in the North, South, East and West more than 5 kilometers from the city limits. The image magnified on one of the pinpoints. Its resolution cleared to show two structures within an open area of forest.

Garrison recognized it by its sleek, purple beak-like barrel and rounded base as the Covenant's Type-38 Anti-Aircraft Cannon. Nicknamed the 'Tyrant', its lengthy barrel was pointed towards the city. The gun was encompassed by a large energy shield being emitted from a nearby pylon.

"Those shields are too strong, even for Archer missiles." Tusk said. "ASGMs wouldn't fare any better. I'd give anything for a few SHIVAs right now but we ran dry on those a few days ago."

Horvath stepped up. "What if I sent in a few of my Marine Companies? I can still spare 700 from my 1st and 5th Battalions alone. We can conduct search and destroy in less than an hour."

Tursk seemed to consider it. The Spartan took a step forward as well "With your permission sir, my Spartans and I can accompany the Marines on the search and destroy mission to boost their chances of success."

Horvath looked at the armored man and nodded in genuine gratitude.

"Its feasible." Tursk said. "Just not doable."

The image beside the Vice Admiral expanded outward and, likely due to Joan's handiwork, highlighted large swaths of the areas surrounding the AA Guns. There were multiple, red pinpoints of light more plentiful than the first.

"As it so happens, the Covenant fleet deployed a sizable ground force around the outskirts of the city via dropship about three hours ago, likely in response to the failure of the advance forces sent to retake the De Gaulle. They're predicted to reach the city in the next hour. Their purpose will be to take New Memphis if we delay them up here."

"Couldn't we counter with air support?" Horvath asked.

Again, Tursk shook his head. "Understand that this force is over 40,000 strong. To put those numbers into perspective, the force you just repelled, the one that cost you 40% of your combined personnel, was only a tenth of that size. It goes without saying here that there are few outcomes in this strategy that don't end with the deaths of everyone involved before they reach their objectives, air support or not."

The room was bathed in silence as the idea crashed and burned.

"Is there really no other way?" Mentieth asked the question more to himself than anyone else.

"No matter which way we slice this, we're going to lose people." Tursk said. "Whether by ground or space, Miridem will fall in the next hour. All we can do now is choose the course that has the best chances of success for as many as possible. Is that understood everyone?"

Garrison hated the idea that they were about to throw civilians into the meat grinder just to see if any survived. He forced himself to agree like everyone else. Then he remembered something, the matter being discussed earlier in the room just before the first ships were shot down. He glanced over to see the Lieutenant Commander step forward.

"As for my mission, sir?"

"It's still approved. We'll need that installation taken offline. Just understand that your team will have to move in quickly. One hour is an extremely small window of opportunity."

"You've decided sir?" The Chief asked.

"I have. You're Spartans won't be sent on this mission. They'll remain here as ground security. And yes, Master Chief, that is my final decision."

Garrison saw the Master Chief's rigid stance slacken by an almost imperceptible degree. "Understood sir." He answered steadfastly, not betraying a hint of the disappointment he probably felt.

Garrison could sense a hardness in the man, one that he saw in few UNSC personnel nowadays. It was the kind that only came from seeing more action than the average GI. Finding anyone who'd survived more than a handful of encounters with the Covenant was a rarity. But the Chief was obviously no normal soldier. His persistence in requesting to be the accompaniment for the Lieutenant Commander in what was possibly a one-way mission spoke for itself.

Tursk turned to the Lieutenant Colonel. "You're certain your ODSTs are up to the challenge?"

The 'isolated facility', as Garrison had heard the Vice Admiral refer to it earlier, was an ONI installation codenamed 'Javelin' which hosted a number of important cyberinfrastructure assets that couldn't be allowed to fall into enemy hands. It was located in a hilly region 15 kilometers East of the city. The initial plan was to send in a team to conduct an Asset Denial operation there.

"They can get the job done sir. However, isn't their route cut off because of the heavy enem presence in the outskirts?"

"Not so." Tursk said and highlighted a path along an area running from New Memphis to the Eastern outskirts where the carpet of Covenant forces thinned out. "It's a longshot but it's still your best option, at least as long as they don't gather up there. Pray it stays that way if you want any chances of returning."

Cordova remained undaunted. "No problem sir, I'll take any prayers I can get if you're willing to spare some."

Tursk nodded and addressed the room. "You all have your duties. Move swiftly and tend to them. Perhaps they'll increase our chances of success here. You're Dismissed."

:********:

Duncan stood on his seat in the Pelican and reached into the overhead netting. He felt what he was looking for and pulled it out. He looked over the device in his hands. The Series 8 Single Operator Lift Apparatus, or Jetpack as some called it, was a tool the size of his rucksack that could be attached to his back and enable him to scale vertical terrain up to 25 meters. He'd recognized it when Epsilon first boarded one of the two Pelicans stationed on the Apron. He'd done a few practice rounds with the equipment during 3-Dimensional Maneuver Training back at Ravenport. Instructor Mahoney declared him competent in its use, although he never did any specialization training to be anything like the 22nd ODST Battalion's Air Assault Units.

Still, he held onto it. After all, it might come in handy in a few minutes.

The Lieutenant Colonel had informed 1st platoon of the newest mission he'd assigned them to less than 10 minutes ago, then they were lifting off aboard two separate Pelicans and headed for the outskirts 5 minutes later, the point of using two dropships being that one squad could still carry on the mission if the other was shot down.

Time seemed to speed up over the last day or so. From the evacuation effort turning suicidal to this new objective, the world around them was moving at a dizzying pace.

He sat down with the Jetpack in his arms to try and focus his attention on it rather than the way everything seemed on the verge of falling apart around him.

Rico who was sitting next to him peeked over. "Don't tell me, you're a Cryptoanalyst and a Bullfrog? You're one overpowered hombre, seriously."

"Nah, not really." Duncan grinned. "I know how to use it though. Who knows if we'll need it or not."

"Why don't you ask Staff? Maybe he'll let you bring it along?"

They both looked over at the Staff Sergeant sitting opposite them. His polarized visor and the way his head leaned back was enough inference to suggest he'd dozed off. Nova and Zack were sitting beside him looking towards the window on the back-hatch. Hector and Deaks were doing the same thing, watching the city of New Memphis grow smaller in the distance.

"Hey Staff?" Duncan called. "Think we can use this?"

He couldn't tell if the man really was napping and not just sitting there. Even after boarding he'd yet to say a word. He didn't respond either way.

"We should ditch." Zack said, sounding unusually grim.

"Hey now, where'd that come from?" Deaks asked, holding the barrel of his sniper rifle like a cane. "You thinking about ditching the mission? I'd hate to remind you whose our boss on this run but…" He jabbed a thumb towards the cockpit where the evening sun was shining through. "That's ONI in there. Like the Staff said back when we were in New Alexandria, they're people that we're better off never meeting…and we've run into her three times already. So don't jinx us, alright?"

At hearing the quote, Zack couldn't help rounding on the man who'd said them. "Staff, come on, this doesn't make any sense. We're literally sending people up there to die. How does that add up?"

"I wouldn't bother him." Nova said. "He's probably-"

To everyone's surprise, the Staff's visor depolarized. He wasn't sleeping but he sure looked like he could use the rest. The way he stared hard at the floor made it apparent that he had struggled with something on his mind, something heavy judging by the way his stare looked ready to drill a hole through the canopy.

"What are you really trying to say, Helljumper?"

Zack swallowed. "I-, I'm saying this whole thing is messed up, sir. We're practically killing the people we just fought to save, that the Cap and everybody else in Eagle died to save." He leaned closer. "We need to do something, anything at all. Just not…this."

"Captain Harper and Eagle died because of an ambush while trying to secure Misriah Armory equipment." The Staff said with a contemplative coolness that hadn't been there before. "We're expected to be willing to do the same on this mission."

"You know what I'm trying to say, sir."

The Staff's jaw clenched tight. "Do I?"

For a moment, Duncan felt that his question wasn't exactly aimed at Zack.

"Well, I'll take your complaints to the Lieutenant Commander. We'll see what she thinks."

The ODSTs watched stunned as the Staff suddenly got up and started on a slow, weighted walk towards the front.

"Staff." Zack called to him in a desperate whisper. "Where're you going? Staff wait, don't-"

The Staff stopped. "Tell me something, all of you. If there was a chance to save those people at the Starport, every one of them, would you take it, no matter what?"

No one moved to answer at first. But Nova flashed her acknowledgement light. Zack mirrored her actions with his own. So did Rico and Hector. Duncan blinked his as well.

Deaks hesitated. "…Sir?"

The Staff peered over his shoulder at them. The way the evening sun shone past the man made his armor glow. He smiled at them reassuringly. Yet there was a kind of hidden sadness behind it that Duncan couldn't quite understand.

The Staff walked on into the cockpit.

Yuri was sitting in the co-pilot seat behind Cordova who was manning the main station. The Staff stopped to peer through the window at the hilly, forested landscape zooming past.

Cordova glanced at him as he walked in. "What is it, Staff Sergeant?"

The Staff kept staring at the view. "My men are asking if there's a way for us to divert from our current mission to assist the evacuation effort. Is there any way we can facilitate something like that?"

The Lieutenant Commander, with her helmet on, looked at him with an 'are you being serious' expression. "…No. There's currently no way for us to assist in that matter considering our current objective. I suggest that you tell you men to focus on this mission and not…that idea."

"And if there was a way, would you still say no?"

Cordova looked him over for a brief second and exhaled in pity. "I recommend you reevaluate where your priorities lie Staff Sergeant, to your mission or to your men. As their leader you are also their example. Please lead by that example."

The Staff sighed and gave a curt nod of his head as he finally turned to her. "Yes mam, will do."

He reached over and flipped a switch on her console, activating the Pelican's autopilot. Cordova rounded on him. "What're you-"

The Staff struck her in the head with the butt of his shotgun, snapping it back. She slumped onto the instrument panel, limp. He pulled her up and took off her helmet. There was an angry red bruise on the side of her forehead but otherwise she was fine. Unconscious but fine.

Yuri held up his hands. "Woah-woah-woah, Staff?"

"Take the controls." The Staff ordered and pulled Cordova out of her seat. He dragged her into the main blood tray where the rest of the squad quickly stood up in surprise.

"Sir!?" Deaks said, "What'd you just…"

The Staff ignored him and hoisted the unconscious Lieutenant Commander into one of the passenger seats then secured her restraints. He breathed out, then turned to face them. "Change of plans. We're taking out those guns."

The atmosphere in the Dropship seemed to lighten at those words alone. That didn't stop the fact that everyone was still confused.

Deaks tensed. "Sir…if we do this…there's no going back."

"We're already too far gone, Corporal." The Staff said and shrugged. "We might as well go the rest of the way. What do you say, Epsilon?"

"I say it's a good thing you hit her and not me." Nova said, cracking her knuckles. "I wanted to slug her since Aratus Sulfi."

"Let's do it." Hector said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Ay-ay." Rico half-saluted. "Para mi Tío."

"Count me in too." Zack added, sounding amped up. "I don't mind roughing up ONI myself if that's what it takes."

Duncan laughed a little at the impossible insanity of the moment. But perhaps they all had to be insane to pull off what everyone else deemed impossible. "I'm in too."

Deaks looked at the others for a moment as if to see if they were serious, then ultimately gave in. "You got us into this Staff. I hope you've got a way out."

"Do we have a way out, Yuri?" The Staff asked.

"Well if we all going to die then best way to die is with me at wheel." Yuri said over comms. "I'll try and fly us in and out, quick and clean."

The Staff added Joels to the conversation. "It's done, Ben."

"About time." Joels laughed. "Me and Echo are all agreed. We'll follow your lead, Staff."

The rest of Epsilon began putting the pieces together on the spot, realizing that the Staff's spontaneous actions weren't so spontaneous. With Echo on their side, they had a much better chance of doing what their higher-ups had refused to send battalions of Marines and even the Spartans to accomplish.

"We're really doing this." Deaks sighed.

The Staff walked back into the cockpit and slid into the co-pilot seat behind Yuri. He found the long-range communication suite and switched it on.

A few seconds of keypad typing later he got the Lieutenant Colonel's bewildered voice over comms. "What is it, Staff Sergeant? Why are you contacting me on your mission?"

"We've got a new mission, sir. We're taking out those guns in the Eastern Sector to open up a safe evacuation route for the rest of the civies."

There was several seconds of silence. "Where's the Lieutenant Commander?"

"Unconscious, sir."

If Garrison hadn't been expecting that reply, he made no show of surprise whatsoever in his own. "Standby…alright, the coordinates to the Eastern AA Guns are uploaded to your Pelicans. I'll try to buy you some time delaying the evacuation if I can. You've got 35 minutes at most."

Yuri received the coordinates and slowly steered them onto their new course. In one of the rearview monitor screens, Echo's Pelican turned about in the air to join them."

"Copy sir." The Staff said. "We'll get the job done."

"And Staff Sergeant?"

"Yes sir?"

"…Make her proud."

There was a pause from the Staff as he looked out the cockpit window at the forested hills passing below. "Will do, sir."

The Lieutenant Colonel signed off the comm, leaving 1st platoon to fly on their own towards their newest objective.

Improbos liberetis – Rogues


	29. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 10 (Interdictione vetustius)

Chapter 10 - Interdictione vetustius

September 16th, 2544 (05:32 Hours – Military Calendar)

Ulterin System, Miridem

Matin Province, Continent of Vitre

3 Kilometers East of New Memphis

:********:

Where had those Guns even come from?

That was the question on everyone's mind and the one Duncan wanted answered most. That, and how had the Covenant done it without anyone noticing? The security breach that entailed was almost nauseating. It could only mean that the Covenant had started attacking UNSC logistical satellites to prevent them from detecting their movements in the outskirts. Those remaining to spot the eight Tyrants were likely only moved into place because of that diminishment of observation capacities.

It was decided that 1st platoon would split up. Squad Echo would diverge to attack the Tyrant less than 2 kilometers to their Southeast while Epsilon attacked the second another kilometer South.

"We get the job done and we're out of there." The Staff said.

"Hope the evac doesn't leave us behind." Deaks huffed as he inspected his rifle.

"One way or another we're getting out of here, Corporal. Count on it."

But Duncan wasn't counting on it, not strongly. As Zack had told them from reports over SATCOM, there were Covenant forces assembled near the area where they were heading, at least 10,000 strong. When he compared those numbers against 20 ODSTs it sounded more like long odds the longer he thought about it. What was to stop those reinforcements from coming over once they saw their Tyrants going up in smoke, that is, if they destroyed them at all?

From his studies on ONI-cleared documents about Covenant weaponry, the Type-38 possessed an inner core with a pinch fusion reactor. They would have to destroy the core in order to take out the Gun. That said, if they incidentally dropped the core's containment barrier just as the Tyrant prepared to fire then they would be at risk of receiving a 200 rad dose of radiation. Under those conditions their armor would do them little good.

The Staff called in. "Here's the rundown. Nova, Deaks, Heck, Rico, Zack, you're with me. Yuri will drop us off about 20 meters out. We'll target the Pylon first so Yuri can provide us with some air cover. Then we'll push for the AA and hit the core before we exfil."

"Sounds like a plan." Nova said.

"What about me, sir?" Duncan asked.

The Staff answered by stepping out of the copilot seat and walking into the blood tray. "I'll show you. You and Heck come help me with this."

Duncan and Hector glanced at each other and got up. They hopped on top of a few seats with the Staff and reached into the overhead netting. Duncan gripped the smooth metal surface of a triple barreled weapon. He worked with the Staff and Hector to pull it out then hefted it onto the floor.

The descendent of several dozen renditions of the original 19th century Gatling gun, the AIE-486 Heavy Machine Gun was a monster to behold and even more so to lift. The three-barreled weapon came with its own advantages. First were the two defensive palisades on the sides that gave it the appearance of a Frilled Neck Lizard. Second was the deployable tripod that came compacted against the main body.

Hector whistled as he and Duncan hoisted the weapon up near the doors for the Staff to pull out the tripod. "First we find a Jetpack and then a hot piece like this, I might just become a pilot at this rate."

"I wouldn't suggest that for you my friend." Yuri chimed in. "Its harder than it looks, I just make it look easy."

The Staff fixed the last leg in place then patted the multi-barreled weapon like a pet. "This is yours, Iris. You'll stay on with Yuri to provide fire support from above."

Duncan grasped the handles with both hands, flexing his thumbs over the two triggers. It was a comfortable, reassuring kind of feeling, and it reminded him of the last time he'd used a machine gun back during the escort mission on Reach. This time he'd actually get the chance to fire it. "Understood, sir."

"Hey Staff, can I call dibs after him?" Hector asked.

"Focus on your own job, Heck." The Staff replied and walked back into the cockpit. Beyond the window, the hills gave way to natural lanes of forested escarpments that formed deep valleys with running rivers. It was hard to spot anything other than that through the dense, deciduous forestry. "How're we looking, Match?"

Yuri shrugged as he steered them along. "We've got 'nother 900 meters to our target. We'll see Echo's AA in 30 seconds." He pointed to a monitor that showed the other squad's Pelican 100 meters to their left. It flew at a lower altitude, barely skimming over the tops of the trees. "Echo-7 has them staying low in case they have Shades on perimeter. I still think it's not good idea because any Covies nearby could spot them."

The Staff watched the other dropship whisp over the treetops, leaving behind a wake of waving pines. "Ep-1 to Echo-1, you sure about your altitude?"

"Don't worry about us, Staff." Joels said. "We'll be quick enough to get away from anything on the ground that hears us coming…speaking of which."

The Staff caught on and looked out the window. Sure enough, about 300 meters to their left, he saw the silhouette of a Tyrant. It sat in an open area of the forest.

"I see it." The Staff said.

"Guns up people!" Joels barked to his squad. "Boots on the ground in-"

The world, for a moment, seemed inverted as rain began to fall from the ground below to the sky above. It took the Staff a full-second to realize it wasn't rain, but plasma that shot up from the forest floor towards the Pelicans. He winced as a burst flashed past the cockpit. Looking down he spotted several disc-shaped emplacements firing at them. "Shades! Yuri, evasive maneuvers!"

"Da!"

Yuri weaved the Pelican left then right and up to avoid geysers of plasma fire.

The Staff braced himself while everyone in the blood tray fought to restrain themselves in their seats. He looked at the monitor showing Echo's Pelican just as directed plasma slashed through the fusion drives on its starboard side. The engines exploded, bucking the dropship to port. It made a violent turn towards the distant Tyrant then began a rapid descent, bleeding a trail of smoke.

"Echo-1!"

There was no reply as the damaged Pelican screamed down towards the surface. The pilot, Echo-7, seemed to be fighting to maintain control as he used their thrusters to slow them down. Regardless, the craft hit the ground at 100 kilometers per hour, bounced on impact then came back down, skidding across the forest. It ploughed through trees for several seconds before slamming into the base of an escarpment.

It sat like a dead bird on the forest floor, leaving a long scar in its wake.

"Echo-1?" The Staff asked, summoning all his strength to sound calm. There was no reply. "Ep-1 to Echo-1, respond, over."

Again, no answer.

"Ben come on...say something."

A total of five seconds elapsed with nothing but static. Then, slowly he made out Joels' voice as the man shouted orders between fits of coughing. He was telling someone to check on Echo-7, then after receiving an answer, told them to move the body into the cargo bay.

"Echo-1 to Ep-1, we're down one man but we're still kicking, over." Joels said.

The Staff sighed with relief, or whatever relief that could be found after seeing troopers shot out of the sky, or the Shade fire that still leaped up at his own Pelican. "Hold your position, we'll pick you up."

"Don't." Joels coughed. "No time. We're only a jog away from the Gun. You keep on going. Just pick us up after we're done, over?"

The Staff considered it for a moment. He exhaled again, although this time with concern.

"Is that the sound of you doubting my squad, Staff?" Joels asked with a hint of a challenge.

"Not a chance, Sergeant. We'll be back for dust-off in 20 minutes. Hit'em hard and hit'em fast."

"We don't know any other way, Staff." Joels said as the sound of moving hydraulics indicated that the cargo bay door had opened. "Move out Echo! Staff says we've got 20 minutes! Let's go!"

:*******:

Duncan couldn't see as they neared the Tyrant but felt it in the way that the Pelican stopped moving evasively. He felt little relief, however, especially knowing what happened to Echo. The thought that they might still get shot down made him tighten his grip on the machine gun.

"We hit paydirt in 20 seconds." The Staff said. "Get ready. Once we're done here then we head back for Echo."

Duncan could hear the rest of the squad reloading their weapons. He felt it through his feet as they started to descend and counted off the seconds: 15…10…5…

He took a steadying breath as the Pelican's descent stopped and the door opened. Evening sunlight streamed in, illuminating the cargo bay. Duncan took in the sight of the slightly sloped ground they were hovering over that led up to another rocky escarpment about 100 meters away. Sitting in a small plateau at less than half that distance was the towering purple structure that was their target, its image slightly distorted behind the blue dome of an energy shield.

"Move out!"

The others streamed past him and dropped a meter to the ground. They fanned out and made for the labyrinth of scattered tree-cover and boulders leading towards the AA from the encompassing forest.

Yuri rose the Pelican another 30 meters into the air then fell into a holding pattern around the target area.

"Look out for Banshees." Yuri said. "We didn't see any on way in but doesn't mean they're not out there."

"Roger." Duncan swept his weapon's circular targeting reticle across the ground while occasionally glancing up at the horizon. The skies were clear. The same couldn't be said for the ground.

He pulled down the triggers and spooled up the gun. Half a second later he was spewing armor piercing rounds at the several squads of Grunts, Jackals and Elites emerging from the energy shield to face the rest of Epsilon. They quickly fell out of his sight as Yuri kept on the patrol route.

"Yuri!"

"I see them." Yuri swiveled back around to strafe the ground. The Pelican's rotary cannon spat high caliber rounds into Covenant forces nearest to the squad. Bloodied gas masks and dismembered Jackal limbs flew. Once they passed over, Duncan gained a clear line of sight and pressed two of the Elites still fighting. Their shields fell quickly before they succumbed to the rain of fire, leaving them in splattered ponds of blue blood.

A few fired at the dropship, prompting Duncan to dip his head to avoid the occasional needler round.

Yuri turned for another strafing run and the rotary cannon belched out a second barrage. Once they passed over, Duncan spotted a trio of Jackals trying to flank around a boulder where Zack and Rico were taking cover. He wasted them in several seconds of continuous fire. He swiveled the gun sites onto the two Elites holding off Nova and the Staff as they pushed for the shield. The Elites' personal shields shattered under the heavy concentration of fire and their bodies flew apart under the onslaught.

Without a moment's reprieve, a Ghost sped out from the domed shield. Three more raced out behind it to stop the ODSTs' advance.

"Cover!" The Staff said. The rest of Epsilon quickly slipped behind more of the boulders before the Ghosts opened up, spitting out lanes of plasma across the area.

Duncan was about to help out when an all too familiar rurring noise came to ear. He glanced at the shield in time to see two Banshees emerging from either side. They quickly turned towards the Pelican.

"Banshees!" Duncan said.

"Focus on Ghosts." Yuri said. "I take care of Banshees."

Yuri turned about to face the flyers head on, stuttering out 40-millimeter responses against the streams of plasma fire that flew past and cutting down one of the Banshees in turn.

Duncan held on as the dropship swerved to the right to let a plasma torpedo sail past, all the while shooting down at the enemy vehicles moving below. One Ghost had already been taken out and sat as a burning wreck. He focused on another driving past it and got a clear shot on the driver, throwing the Grunt pilot clear of the craft.

He followed the exhaust trails of the third Ghost that was speeding along. He focused on the front of the craft. Blue flames and smoke flickered to life over the hull a moment before the entire thing ignited, turning the Ghost into a small fireball.

Duncan moved to target the last one when the final Banshee raced only a few meters overhead, then suddenly aileron flipped downward. It arced down, twisted then curved upwards, stopping seven meters from Duncan. He opened fire while plasma splashed against the lower part of the cargo bay door.

He managed to wound its fuselage enough to make it bleed smoke but it suddenly launched a torpedo aimed straight for him. Duncan's visor brightened at the approaching green comet.

There was seemingly an angel on his shoulder that day, his name being Yuri, who suddenly cut out the Pelican's engines, sending them falling towards the ground and allowing the torpedo to fly past.

In the two seconds before the engines shut back on, Duncan kneeled with the machine gun and stabbed two seconds of continuous fire into the Banshee's underbelly, finishing it off in an explosion of purple flames.

As the dropship settled back into a proper holding pattern, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Hey Ep-5."

"Da?"

"Thanks man, seriously."

"Pozhaluysta, it's what I do."

Duncan peered out again at the ground. The fourth Ghost had already been finished off, probably by Rico's grenade launcher. The squad was at the edge of the energy shield. They waited until Zack hustled up alongside them.

"On my mark." The Staff said. "Three…two…mark!"

The troopers dashed through the barrier and were immediately met with resistance from three Grunts manning plasma cannons on the pylon's observation deck a short stretch away. They sprinted for cover behind nearby boulders.

"Ep-3!" Staff said.

"Copy." Deaks slinked out from behind his boulder, aimed and shot each Grunt once in the head. The cannons quickly fell silent.

"Move up."

The ODSTs sprinted the last 20 meters to the energy pylon. While the others took up defensive positions behind its tripodal support struts, Rico moved to each strut individually to plant C-7 charges along the pylon's energy supply systems. He planted the last one, hit the timer and gave the Staff a thumbs up.

"Fall back." The Staff ordered. "Ep-5, get ready for open skies, over."

"Matchstick copies." Yuri said.

They retreated to a safe distance. After ten seconds the charges detonated. The explosion channeled up the pylon's energy supply chain into the central tower, consuming it in a flash of blue flames that chimneyed into the sky.

The energy shield flickered then dissipated, leaving the Tyrant fully exposed.

The ODSTs moved for the final target. The Pelican's shadow overtook them as Yuri flew in.

The dropship turned around so Duncan could get a better view. He swept his gun across the second floor and the base structure beneath. Nothing moved save for the architecture's pulsating turquoise lights.

He'd been checking the base' entrances when several figures bounded out of the opposite side. He tried to track them but found it nearly impossible. They appeared as three white flashes shifting cover from dead trees to boulders, sprinting or rolling away, always staying out of sight.

"Ep-8 to Ep-1, I'm seeing several enemy contacts setting up positions ahead of you."

"Classification?" The Staff asked.

"Can't tell, they're moving too-"

He froze as his targeting reticle settled on an Elite in white armor, aiming a Fuel Rod Cannon right back at him. Its glowing, eye-like visor stared him down, its crimson-accents giving him the impression of freshly drawn blood.

The Ultra fired.

"Incoming!" Duncan shouted.

Yuri swerved to the left, barely dodging the twin fireballs of emerald energy that whisked past. The Elite kept firing, forcing them to jet further left in a desperate bid to evade while Duncan poured down return fire.

By then the other two Ultras were also revealing themselves. One of them shot a Concussion rifle at Epsilon, forcing them to slide behind what cover they could find across the craggy ground. The pink explosive blasts slammed into their positions, blowing out pieces of dead bark and boiling rock.

The third Elite fired two orbs from its Plasma Launcher that tracked the dropship. While one missed entirely, the other attached itself to the underside of the Pelican's tail. Duncan leaped back as it detonated, tearing a jagged hole into the tail. The shockwave knocked his gun clear off its mount. He jumped over it, letting the weapon slide past the unconscious Lieutenant Commander until it hit the cockpit door.

Yuri looked back from his seat. "Where'd they hit!?"

Duncan looked at the smoke billowing from the tail like a deep hemorrhage. "The tail!"

"Ep-1 to 5, back off for now! That bird's our only way out of here! We don't need it taking any more hits!"

"Copy!" Yuri said and started steering them away.

Once they were moving off, Duncan spotted something a short distance from the Tyrant itself. Parked ten meters out from the emblazoned energy pylon were two empty Banshees, unguarded.

An idea formed. It was crazy but it could work. He glanced back at the Jetpack on the netting, then at the ground passing below. He would need to either act fast or not at all.

He ran back into the Pelican and pulled out the Jetpack. He threw aside his rucksack, attached the pack to his back harness and saw the device' readouts appear on his HUD. "Yuri, swing around to that pylon and drop me off."

"You crazy!? Staff said to back off!"

"I know, that's why I'm saying drop me off."

"I don't see how…" He stopped as he seemed to put the pieces together, then laughed once he figured out what Duncan was going for. "You really are crazy. I hope you know how to fly those."

Duncan nodded. "Let's find out."

Yuri wheeled the dropship back around and swung over the pylon. With a running start, Duncan vaulted out the cargo bay into the air. There was a solid 30-meter drop to the ground. At 20 meters he engaged the jetpack's thrusters, releasing a controlled burst to slow his descent. He fell to 10 meters, boosted again, then dropped to 5. With a final boost he let himself drop the rest of the way. He spotted the Banshees and made a run for them.

He reached one and leaped into the cockpit. The canopy closed over him and the vehicle hovered off the ground. The windshield display came to life with curling, alien calligraphy so intricate that it brought him to an expected conclusion: he didn't have a clue what he was looking at. Still, he'd done enough Enemy-Equipment Requisition Simulation trainings at Ravenport to identify what he needed: the movement handles and firing studs. The moment he put his hands on them, his smartlink updated his HUD with three-circles and inverted arrows that served as a targeting reticle. While his BDU came with software able to adapt to Covenant weaponry and some vehicles, that was a function few ever used unless old faithful human-equipment wasn't fit for the job at hand. He would have to get used to it on the fly. If all else failed, he could always bail out with the jetpack.

Duncan pushed the Banshee forward, gently at first, then activated the thrusters. He boosted forward and swung the vehicle around towards the Tyrant.

The Ultras were still holding the rest of the squad at bay, pinning them just outside the gun. He switched on his comms. "Ep-8 to Epsilon, friendly Banshee coming in from the Northeast."

The Staff's comm came on with the thundering reverberations of concussion rifle discharges. "Mind telling me what you're doing in a Banshee, Ep-8?"

"Thought it'd be a good idea, sir."

There was a brief pause as the Staff talked with Nova off the comm. He came back on. "See what you can do."

"Roger." Duncan pulled back to gain some altitude then arced down into an attack run. His reticle turned red at spotting two of the three Ultras. He hit the firing studs, raining down bursts of plasma fire. The Elites saw him coming and leaped out of the way in time. He angled right to center his sites on the third firing its fuel rod cannon off at the squad. He switched over to the Banshee's torpedo mode and pressed the firing yoke. A torpedo launched forward and raced down to the target. But the Elite also noticed him coming and fired off two shots at the rogue Banshee before leaping out of the way.

Duncan banked off to avoid the two return shots. He thought he was safe to try again when he spotted several of the bolt-like blue balls from the plasma launcher headed towards him. He did a rough barrel-roll to the left, then to the right to shake them off.

These Elites were fast, he realized, too fast for anything less than a fake out. The odds he'd pull it off were long. Then again, so much up to this point had looked like long odds that it didn't make a real difference. He swung out from the air above the Tyrant and did a semicircle around the area, taking the time to observe the Elite's movements. They leaped around a lot. That, he could use to his advantage. If he timed his attack right then there was at least a chance he could separate them.

He came back around and boosted forward, heading for the Elites' positions near the Tyrant. He swooped down into another attack run. He sighted two Elites, aligned his sites with the closest and let him have it. The plasma strafed its position with some even catching its shields. The alien threw itself behind a boulder, leaving its nearest comrade wide open. Without warning Duncan switched to the torpedo and rolled left to put himself only several meters above the second Elite. He could see as it flinched at his sudden appearance as he fired.

The torpedo easily lanced into the Ultra at near point-blanc range, enveloping it in emerald flames and sending its concussion rifle flying. Its scorched body skidded back a few meters then slid against the Tyrant.

Duncan quickly banked off to avoid a head-on collision with the ground. He skidded across the soil then got back into the air for another pass.

Zack cheered over comms. "Right in the face! Nice one, Irish!"

"You're ballsy, Ep-8, I'll give you that." The Staff said then addressed the rest of the squad. "Ep-2 and 6, hit that one on the left. Everyone else, target the one on the right. Keep them separated."

The squad returned fire. A grenade from Rico bounced between the feet of one of the Ultras. It detonated, bursting its shields. Deaks scored the kill shot. The Elite toppled over, shooting its fuel rod cannon once into the air before collapsing.

Duncan turned his attention to the last Ultra standing in one of the entrances to the Tyrant's base. The Staff, Hector and Zack were already hard at work on its shields. Duncan helped strafe it with his plasma cannons. The moment they popped its shields the Ultra leaped out of the way. Zack tossed a frag after it. A second later the explosion sent the Elite flying past the entrance. It landed in a heap, its plasma launcher tumbling behind it.

The ODSTs, save for Nova, moved up the ramp. They cautiously stepped inside and cleared the interior. Their attention settled on the reactor at the chamber's center. The glowing ball of plasma energy housed inside rippled with electricity, brightening the entire room. The fact it wasn't firing was a good sign. It meant that there were no targets, and by extension, that the Lieutenant Colonel had somehow managed to delay the evacuation.

"Ep-6, get to work." The Staff said.

Rico took out a C-7 charge from his rucksack, primed it and nodded to the others. The Staff tossed a frag against the reactor's energy barrier, blowing it out of the way. The squad's demolitionist tossed the C-7 through the entrance. The explosive went off, instantly creating a secondary detonation as the fusion reactor ruptured. Emergency sirens activated and blared rhythmically.

The troopers jogged back down the ramp and took cover behind a few boulders.

The Tyrant's emergency sirens continued to blare for another several seconds as blue flames and smoke bloomed across its surface. The reactor gave a final high-pitched whine before the entire structure went up in a fiery blossom. Burning debris streaked from the destroyed gun like enflamed pollen, showering the area.

The Staff walked out to take in the sight. "We're done here. Ep-5 bring the Pelican."

"Khorosho."

"Ep-8 and Ep-2 bring those Banshees. They'll come in handy if we run into any trouble."

Duncan who'd been circling around the burning Tyrant was a little confused. He'd thought he was the only one with a Banshee when he spotted a second one ascending into the air baring a friendly IFF.

"We copy." Nova said. "I figured we could use these on the return trip. They're not so bad once you get past the hieroglyphics, Right Ep-8?"

"…Yeah, copy."

Yuri brought the Pelican down outside the ruined AA cannon for them to jog onboard, then returned to the air.

"We'll pick up Echo first then return to New Memphis." The Staff said. "Let's get moving."

The dropship headed out, though not along the way they'd come. Duncan thought that was for the best in case the Covenant laid any traps for them along the way. He tagged along with his Banshee on the Pelican's portside while Nova guarded the starboard side. They arced over an escarpment then moved in the direction of Echo's target.

:********:

Sergeant Joels stared at the reactor before him and took the momentary reprieve, as well as the elation of having made it this far, to cough up the blood pooling in the back of his throat. Some of it splattered over his visor, although he had to admit that it was the least troubling thing he'd seen all day.

The two smoldering holes in his left breastplate was one thing. They were given to him courtesy of a well-aimed plasma burst from an Elite, one of the squad's worth that Echo ran into on the way here. Echo had taken on a defensive force four times their size and won. The only cost was Echo-5 and himself being the only ones left alive to actually make it to the Tyrant. He wasn't sure how long even that would last given his own wounds. The biofoam stung where he'd applied it in the spots where the heated metal of the armor melted then, according to Echo-5, fused to the carbonized flesh just above his heart. In a way, he'd become one with his armor.

He glanced over at Echo-5 who was crouched at one of the nearby doors, surveying the body-strewn area outside with his sniper rifle.

Joels' felt his mind grow hazy. He thought about the Staff Sergeant and Epsilon who were coming to pick them up. His thoughts drifted further to Captain Harper and Squad Eagle who, he felt, would've cheered them on if they were still around.

He fired three-round bursts into the energy barrier in his way, changing its surface from a strong blue to a weak red with each pull of the trigger as he thought of when he was just a recruit shipping off to Camp Lincoln to become an ODST. He thought of the days when he was just a private, the Staff was just a PFC, when the Captain was a Sergeant and life was simpler.

Now here he was, straining to breath and trying to destroy an AA Cannon ready to shoot civilians out of the sky. It wasn't a bad way to go at least, not for a Helljumper.

He knew Echo-5 could still make it, but even if he himself got out of here on Epsilon's Pelican, he'd probably bleed out internally long before they ever reached New Memphis. So he settled for giving the enemy as much hell as he could while he was still on his feet.

No sooner did the barrier finally dissipate and he reached for a frag that Echo-5 started firing. "Where'd he come from!"

Joels looked back to see him shooting through the entrance at an Elite Ultra rushing up the ramp. It evaded the high caliber rounds and pounced at Echo-5. It was close enough for the ODST to shoot a round into its stomach that flared its shields. It carried on regardless to slash its energy sword through his rifle, across his chest and clean through his visor in one swift arc of blood and energy.

Echo-5 toppled back, motionless. The Ultra immediately came at Joels. The Sergeant fired then ducked under a lateral slash, then cracked it in the chin with the stock of his BR, breaking its shields. The Elite staggered back but quickly recovered and yanked the rifle aside. The Sergeant grabbed its arms before it could swing the sword and the two grappled with each other.

Even while strong for a human, he could tell the alien was in a weight class all its own. Still he resisted, straining to push it back.

His comm crackled to life. "Ep-1 to Echo-1, our gun's out. We're on our way. Get your squad ready for pick-up."

Joels couldn't find the strength to answer for more reasons than one, though mostly because the Elite kept trying to get the upper hand. He focused his attention on trying to keep the hand with the energy sword under control. He wasn't in any position to move. If he reached for something with his right then the Elite would snap his neck. If he reached with his left then it would cut him in half. But he spotted the plasma grenade on its belt and caught a thought. It was a suicidal idea which, for a Helljumper, meant it was a good one. He glanced back at the reactor's energy barrier which had already reactivated.

"Ep-1 to Echo-1, respond. We are on our way, over."

"Don't." It took almost everything out of him to say. "Echo's gone. Don't…come…I'm taking out the Gun. Get out of here."

"Echo-1, what's your situation?" The Staff said, sounding more worried. "Echo-"

Joels roared through the blood pooling in his throat. "Get…GOING!"

The Sergeant pushed with renewed vigor against the Elite, flexing every muscle to successfully force it back. It grunted in surprise as he slammed its back against the barrier with enough force to dissipate the energy, winding the Elite in the process. He put everything he had into a final push. Yet the Elite held him at a stalemate. Joels felt himself weakening under the alien's grasp. He refused to back down and headbutted the Ultra over and over until his own blood streamed into his eyes. His opponent's grip slackened, giving him the chance to free his right hand. The Elite seized its own chance to grab his helmet and roughly pulled it free, slicing his face in doing so. He ignored the pain and quickly grabbed the plasma grenade off its belt, activated it and was about to plant it on its owner's chest when the alien warrior grabbed his arm again. The luminous blue orb became the center of a reverse tug-o-war between them.

Joels heard the Staff calling him, although is voice was more distant now. He gritted his teeth and held his head over the Elite's grip on his right arm. Enough of his blood dripped onto the limb for him to slip free. He punched the grenade onto its chest, raised a boot and kicked the alien full force into the reactor. Yet its arms were also free, and as it fell, the Elite lashed out with its energy sword.

Joels felt only a slight sting, a burning in his neck as the world around him spun end over end until it exploded in light.

:********:

Duncan fired a torpedo into the Shade Turret below, finishing it off in an explosion of green flame. He angled back up beside Epsilon's Pelican. Nova did as well after finishing off another of the four Shades that had been guarding the pass they were using to reach Echo.

With the way clear, they emerged out of the pass unscathed.

The second Tyrant appeared less than 500 meters off to their right. Even at this distance Duncan could see the smoke and flame bubbling up from the weapon. The energy pylon must have been taken out as well because it was free to detonate a heartbeat later and send a fine spray of burning debris into the surrounding forest.

Echo had gotten the job done. Now they just had to pick them up. Sure, they might get confused at seeing two Banshees escorting the Pelican but as long as nobody fired a SPANKR, they would all be fine.

"Looks like Echo did it." Nova cheered. "Where do they want to rendezvous? Me and Ep-8 can recon the LZ."

The Staff didn't respond, at least not right away. When he did it wasn't to answer her question. "Ep-2 and 8, we're rendezvousing with the rest of Bravo at the Starport for immediate extraction."

Duncan winced. There was a coldness to the man's voice that wasn't there a minute earlier.

"Sir?" Nova said. "W-, what about Echo?"

The Staff didn't answer.

It slowly dawned on Duncan, and probably on Nova as well, what had likely just happened. They understood then why they had to keep moving. The Staff was never one to leave men behind, not if it could be helped. But they couldn't leave men behind that weren't there to be left behind. Duncan felt a hard-lump settle in his throat and threaten to choke him as he and Nova steered away from the Tyrant's flaming pyre to join the Pelican.

He heard the Staff contact the Lieutenant Colonel over team-comm.

"Sir, the Eastern Guns are down. You're clear to commence the evac to the East."

"Roger. I already saw it via satellite and alerted the Vice Admiral. He's ordering every ship to head East. The Covenant are starting to advance in orbit so we're leaving. You've saved a lot of lives today, Staff Sergeant. Now save your platoon and get back here in 15 minutes, understood?"

"…Yes sir."

They carried on for another kilometer towards New Memphis. To Duncan it felt like they were going nowhere. He felt almost lost in the maze of landmass and forest around him. It was ultimately Yuri's shout that made him alert.

"Banshees incoming!"

He looked out his windshield display and felt a rush of fear. Some ways ahead were a squadron of Banshees that were racing towards them.

"Looks like reinforcements." Nova said with a hint of worry.

"Or just the scouts." The Staff noted. "Ep-5, head 400 meters Northwest. Ep-2 and 8, keep them off of us. Only engage if necessary."

Duncan, Nova and Yuri both flashed their acknowledgement lights. The Pelican veered off to the left while its escorts followed suit. The Banshee squadron similarly readjusted their flight course to intercept.

They met at a mazework of large escarpments.

Duncan quickly found himself making one evasive maneuver after another to avoid plasma fire. Nova was having a harder time of it since her Banshee was already on fire. She rolled out of the way of a torpedo and strafed a passing enemy Banshee, dishing out the same punishment that had been done to her own. As it tried to flee, she fired a torpedo that darted across the sky until it consumed the craft in green flame. That was the second Banshee they'd taken out. Just eight more to go.

The remaining enemy banshees attacked in pairs, two from each direction.

Yuri used his rotary cannon to kill one of the pair brazen enough to risk a frontal assault. Its brother craft veered off its attack run. Duncan fired a torpedo that snaked after it and caught it in its portside canard, biting off a wing. The craft spiraled down towards the ground before disappearing in a puff of purple flame.

Two more came from above to dot his Banshee's fuselage with plasma burns, eliciting small sprouts of flame. Duncan boosted a little then flipped upwards. The maneuver placed him right above the two approaching Banshees. He hammered the closest with an unrelenting stream of plasma then mercilessly pursued it once the two craft broke off. Like a shark after bleeding prey he shot away more of its frame until it blew apart. He flew victoriously through the smoke, only to see the Pelican and Nova already more than 100 meters ahead.

"Move it, Ep-8!" The Staff said.

Duncan spotted the five other Banshees now turning towards him. "Copy!"

He accelerated after them, turning left and left again then rolling right, allowing a tracking torpedo to slam harmlessly into an innocent oak tree.

He shot up alongside the Pelican again.

"Ep-2 and Ep-8, we've got another 3 kilometers before we reach the city. We're headed for a river. Fly ahead and ditch you're Banshees on the banks. We'll move from there."

Duncan knew his flyer wasn't in good shape. Neither was Nova's. Both of them flashed their acknowledgement lights.

The escarpment ahead had a sheer cliff face 300 meters tall. They ascended the steep incline before slipping over the top where it sloped down into a plateau another 100 meters down. There was a river there that dropped off a second cliff, creating a waterfall that fed into another river at the base.

They descended into the basin-like landform and stayed just above tree-level. Yuri Duncan and Nova went ahead. As they moved to land on the river's opposite banks, Duncan checked his rear monitor in time to see their remaining pursuers arc over the rear cliff face. "Banshees on our tail!"

"Double time-it, troopers!" The Staff said.

While Nova chose to land further up the bank, Duncan ditched his own a meter above the ground, leaving the craft to crash-land. He hit the ground running. Yuri brought the Pelican overhead with the cargo bay doors already open. He hovered above the river, close enough for Nova to leap aboard.

Duncan sprinted across the bank, pumping his legs with the will of a man knowing death was at his back. He threw himself onto his stomach as a Banshee flew right overhead. He figured the pilot meant to run him over. He took to the skies once it past. The evening shadows of the Banshees appeared over him. He quickly found that he wasn't their focus, however, as they pockmarked the dropship with plasma, forcing Yuri to move further off to the waterfall's edge.

Before Duncan realized it, he was falling out of the sky as his jetpack's engines recycled. He got a final burst to break his fall and plunged into the water. He gave thanks that it was only knee deep.

He sensed the Banshees practically right on top of him. The Pelican was ahead, waiting with its cargo bay open and the others calling out to him. He heard several torpedoes behind him discharged simultaneously.

There was no time.

He used his jetpack and soared over the river's surface.

The Pelican's engines suddenly cut out and it fell. Duncan sped down, past the waterfall's edge, towards the open cargo bay. Above him, four plasma torpedoes hissed past.

Nova was near the edge, reaching up to catch him. He reached as well. One last boost closed the distance. He grabbed her hand and she pulled him inside.

The moment Duncan was in, Yuri reengaged the Pelican's engines and pulled up. They rose out of their vertical descent. They climbed 10 meters over the river and followed its snaking trail through the forest.

Duncan felt happier than he otherwise would have been to be in a blood tray. He nodded at Nova. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet." She pointed past him. The squad's attention turned to the three Banshees that zoomed down the waterfall in hot pursuit. The other two banked off and returned the way they'd come.

The trio descended over the forest and gave chase. Yuri's attempts at shaking them met with little effect. They pursued them down different trails with unrelenting determination, forcing the escaping Pelican to duck and weave to evade the occasional torpedo.

"Someone get these Covie flyboys off my tail!" Yuri shouted.

"Epsilon, take on those banshees!" The Staff said as he ran from the cockpit into the open blood tray.

The squad took aim from the floor or their own seats and poured out a hailstorm of fire. With a coordinated strike, they had a greater punch than an LAAG. Even that wasn't out of the question as Hector hefted the machine gun and fired it two-handed.

The first Banshee ignited under the barrage. The second plunged into the river below as one of Rico's grenades disabled its systems. The last one rolled from left to right to dodge. Despite its burning fuselage, it fired off a torpedo that rushed for the open bay.

Yuri expertly twisted left, letting it slip past. Mid-maneuver, Deaks fired a single round that zipped through the craft and speared through the brains of the pilot. The Elite tumbled out, falling into the river while its Banshee tumbled across the bank.

They were clear.

As the doors closed, the Staff ran back into the copilot's seat and switched on the long-range communication suite. "Ep-1 to Neptune-Actual, we're two kilometers out. How much longer do we have?"

"Never mind that Ep-1, the evacuation has already started."

The Staff winced. "Sir, you said we-"

"The situation's changing drastically, Staff Sergeant." Garrison said. "The Covenant must've caught on to the situation on the ground and are pushing for the city on all fronts. Navy's on its last legs in orbit. We're pulling out. Don't bother coming to New Memphis. Accelerate to these coordinates immediately or you will be left behind, do you copy?"

The Staff saw the coordinates stream over his and Yuri's consular displays. "I copy sir, we'll be there."

"We're out of time here, Staff. Move it." Garrison signed off the comm.

The Staff turned to Yuri who nodded in reply.

"Ep-1 to Epsilon, change of plans. Buckle in and get ready for immediate Exoatmospheric ascent."

"We're leaving Miridem now?" Zack asked.

"We are. Now buckle in."

:********:

The ride through the atmosphere was rough. The air inside the dropship grew hotter as Yuri pushed them through towards the stars.

Duncan sat inside the otherwise dark cargo bay. Although Miridem's gravity made him aware that he was technically horizontal, the encroaching vastness of space was about to make that a moot point. He wished it would make it a moot point faster since the blood in his head was draining to one side, making him feel woozy.

Everyone else was silent across the vertically inclined blood tray. Secured in their seats, they watched Miridem's surface grow further and further away through the rear window. They could also see the throngs of civilian ships fleeing from New Memphis into the upper atmosphere. The other ships had used the opening they'd made to flee the planet in a singularly massive, extrasolar convoy bound for the stars. Some were entering slipspace right away. Others waited until they got further out.

Duncan thought about all the families onboard those ships, that had lived on Miridem all their lives and now had to say goodbye to it. But he also thought about Captain Harper and Sergeant Joels, about Eagle and Echo, none of whom had been from Miridem but had died there all the same. He sensed a kind of irony lurking in that fact, although he didn't want to think too hard on it. "How much longer until we reach, sir?"

"Two minutes." The Staff said.

Ahead of them, Duncan saw a Paris-Class Heavy frigate silhouetted against the stars. It bore multiple rugged scars of plasma scoring. Yet it wasn't enough to keep him from making out the name on the hull: Swiftsure.

The docking bay entrance was open and waiting for them. Duncan had just started feeling at ease when emergency sirens came on.

"No-no-no-no-no, not now." Yuri said in a half-whisper.

"What is it?" The Staff asked.

"Covenant ships exiting slipspace…they're close, too close!"

Duncan saw them with his own eyes then. In the distant void of space, dozens of slipspace exit vectors appeared. They deposited Covenant ships out into the atmosphere over Miridem. They kept coming, pouring out of the alternate space like a flood.

He held his breath as a slipspace exit vector suddenly appeared mere kilometers away from scores of escaping transports. From it came a CPV-class Heavy Destroyer. The manta-ray-like ship was colossal at well over a kilometer long. Plasma appeared hot and ready along its lateral lines as it moved for the nearest ships.

:********:

The civilian transport Anchorage wasn't Joan's preferred ship of the line. She had her own personal qualms about its shoddy upkeep. The fact it was hardly maneuverable as well was the final nail in the coffin. Today, however, she was giving it a well-deserved second chance. While it was a poor excuse of a commercial frigate, it was more than able to serve its current purpose as a fireship.

Earlier she had split off this subroutine to take the Anchorage into the upper-atmosphere and keep it in geosynchronous orbit after the last Antimatter Charge was discovered onboard. She was honestly surprised when the bomb failed to detonate or do little else. That left her with nothing more to do except sit there beside the weapon of mass destruction hidden within the passenger section.

Now that the mass exodus had begun, and her core self was being escorted to safety, she saw her chance to do something useful the moment the new Covenant fleet slipped into the system. She focused on the destroyer that was baring down on her escaping human charges.

In the split-second it took her to think it through she figured that the antimatter charge was still primed. She also knew just where to put it.

Her knightly image appeared over the holotank on the Anchorage's darkened bridge as the ship exited from a short slipspace jump less than a few kilometers from the destroyer's starboard side.

It spotted the Anchorage and turned to face it. Plasma heated up along its lateral lines. She watched it fire off two torpedoes that tracked her movements.

She pushed the Anchorage's engines to near critical levels, angling upwards to lengthen the time it would take for the torpedoes to reach her.

She reached her destination first, coming right above the ship's bow. She turned the Anchorage about to present a larger target to the oncoming torpedoes.

Joan held out her sword towards them.

While her core-self would live on, like her predecessor, today she would find both honor and glory in the flames to come.

:*********:

Duncan saw the suicidal civilian transport disappear as two plasma torpedoes struck its portside. Then something happened that he wasn't expecting. The starship detonated with an explosive force far greater than it should have possessed. The Destroyer's shields shimmered under the stress before giving way. The blast rippled across its hull then turned the alien ship into a small star.

The flash lasted less than a second. The CPV reappeared with its bow utterly decapitated and the rest of the hull aglow with raging fires, leaving the last civilian ships to enter slipspace unencumbered.

There wasn't any time to think on it however since they weren't out of danger, not until they left Ulterin.

Yuri expertly slid them inside the Swiftsure's docking bay which closed behind them. They immediately felt the ship shutter, the familiar jarring movement of a slipspace transition.

The door to the internal hanger opened. Yuri piloted them inside and descended onto an available landing pad.

A voice came in over the ship's intercom system. "This is Vice Admiral Tursk to all Swiftsure personnel, we're away."

'We're away'. The words were refreshing in and of themselves. The ODSTs quickly pulled off their restraints. Once Yuri popped the door, Epsilon poured out onto the pad. There were a few other Pelicans and hanger personnel around. That didn't stop Zack from yanking off his helmet, falling to his hands and knees and panting. "That…was too close."

"No kidding." Rico huffed. "Where'd that other fleet come from?"

"Don't know and don't care." Hector said. "We're safe and that's all that matters."

The squad was starting to lighten up when they heard footsteps behind them. There was the click of a weapon's safety being flicked off.

They realized that in their relief they had forgotten something, or rather, someone. They turned to face the now conscious Lieutenant Commander who stood on the lip of the blood tray. She looked unamused as she stared down the Staff Sergeant with her M6 drawn.

She slowly walked down the ramp, keeping her pistol aimed at the Staff. All the while the ODSTs moved out of her way. She stopped at the pad's stairwell but refused to take her eyes off the leader of Epsilon.

"Do you know what they call what you just did, Staff Sergeant?" She asked the question with a calmness that did little to disguise the venom behind the words.

The ODSTs kept their hands unassumingly close to their weapon's triggers.

"They call that insubordination. And in a proper text-book definition of the term, you'd be an example. You've assaulted a commanding officer and allowed an important installation with critical assets to fall into enemy hands, the result of which may lead to incalculable casualties. There's blood on your hands now Staff. How do you justify that?"

The Staff spoke calmly. "There would've been blood on our hands if my platoon did nothing but watch as civies got shot out of the sky one ship at a time…mam."

Cordova shook her head and laughed slightly at what to her must have seemed like a pitiful excuse. "You're not seeing the bigger picture. Do you know that I don't need to have you court martialed, trooper? I am well within my right to shoot you where you stand."

The Staff accepted her words with a casual nod of his head and depolarized his visor. He looked tired, but not as much as he had earlier. "You're absolutely correct. You're well within your right to shoot me right here…in front of my squad." His gaze hardened. "But you're also well within range."

The Lieutenant Commander didn't appear to understand the threat at first until she saw Deaks. The Corporal had his SRS-99 leveled at her head.

Cordova glanced back at the Staff and the rest of the squad who stared her down with a same, reserved lethality. At length she slowly eased her stance and confidently slipped her gun back into its holster. "You, Staff Sergeant, will regret this."

"Do what you have to, mam. I already did what I had to."

Cordova stared him down a moment longer, then turned away, walking down the stairwell. She never turned back around as she walked across the ground floor towards a nearby door.

"You sure about this, boss?" Deaks asked, still tracking her with his sniper. "I mean, there's not that many witnesses around. It wouldn't be too hard."

The Staff put a hand to the barrel of his sniper and gently pushed it down, shaking his head. He turned to the rest of the squad with an exhausted yet genuinely earnest smile. He gave a long, heartfelt exhale.

"You did good out there, Epsilon. I'm proud of you, all of you. Well done."

Interdictione vetustius - Interdiction


	30. Battle of Miridem - Chapter 11 (Dubium)

Chapter 11 - Dubium

(7th Cycle, 53 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)

Ulterin System, In orbit over human world of Miridem

:********:

For Fleetmaster Ruca Voramee, the hanger bay of the Ascendant Justice was a familiar sight. The elegant yet gargantuan DDS-class carrier was the pride of the fleet, and on occasion, a second home to him. But today, walking along its 3-kilometer length only served to remind him of the magnitude of his own failure.

He passed some of the crew along the way. Grunts carrying plasma batteries would stop once they saw him coming, quickly scramble to the side and cower in that pitiful posture they always assumed before their betters. Jackals were less reverent. They kept at a fair distance but mostly ignored him as they went about, no doubt scavenging for loose valuables. Then there were those of his kind. Sangheili from the ship's contingent of 40,000 strong would step aside and stand at rigid attention while the officer in golden armor passed. It was a respect Ruca knew he didn't deserve.

He was walking along the far wall of the hanger bay, a titanic space large enough that it held several Corvettes with room to spare, when he stopped. His attention was drawn to the nearby hanger door. Beyond the coliseum-sized energy barrier was the turquoise hued upper atmosphere of the fallen world the humans called Miridem.

Even weeks after, there were still wrecks floating about, namely the cold and dissected hulls of the human ships that had attempted to withstand their glorious advance. One of their destroyers drifted lifelessly a few hundred kilometers from the Justice. He noticed the gaping hole left in its hull and recognized the handiwork of his ships.

The Subfleet of Lawful Unction had been deployed to this system more than a week ago in response to a request for reinforcements from the Supreme Commander of the Third Fleet of Glorious Consequence, Luro 'Taralumee. Having started out with well over 40 ships at the battle's outset, they had been reduced to 13 by the time Ruca and his ships had arrived.

Together they eventually pushed the humans back from the Eastern hemisphere. While Taralumee focused on cleansing the East, Ruca's attention settled on the West.

From the very beginning he'd secretly sent out a team of Silent Shadows assigned to his Subfleet to scout the situation in the West. Through their efforts he was able to keep track of the happenings on the ground there, even approving of a proposed plan to corral the humans in one of their major cities and destroy them before they had a chance to flee. Only that plan had failed, along with the secondary contingency of one Field Marshal Arzon Zotamee. According to Second Blade Officer R'tas Vadumee, a Sangheili he'd known long before he became a Shadow, the enemy had deployed their fabled Demons to fight back against their warriors and won. That created a larger problem: the opportunity the humans now had to escape.

Even this he had planned for. He'd dispatched forces to plant Tyrant AA Cannons in the outskirts of the city called New Memphis. He'd gone so far as to send Ultras as additional security, even dispatching a competent Evocati Delegatus, Ke'il 'Nevumee to supervise the entire effort. Yet that too was a failure thanks to the actions of the human shock troopers.

He couldn't help but wonder, if not marvel, at the outright insanity the human warriors that destroyed the Eastern Tyrants had to possess. Reports claimed that even after one of their dropships was shot down, the humans inside still fought their way to the AA Cannon guarded by none other than 'Nevumee himself and destroyed it. Yes, he couldn't help wondering at the insanity that required. Unless it wasn't insanity.

Ruca caught himself quickly. Bravery was not a human trait; desperation was that mascaraed as bravery. There was no need for such false comparisons to Sangheili. Then again, it was ultimately comparisons that had cost him the final victory.

After learning that the East was open for the planet's surviving population to escape, he moved quickly to stop them. Or so he thought.

Then it happened again.

He could still sense the hesitation of that moment that divided him between whether to face the humans head on or wait for reinforcements. While his Subfleet had been reduced to 6 ships from the original 10, he was certain they would be enough. Yet it wasn't the numbers that made him hesitate.

It paralyzed him once again.

He'd failed to contain a question whose depth of depravity haunted him to no end. It consumed him long enough for critical moments to pass.

By the time he overcame his hesitation it was already too late. The humans began fleeing from Miridem's gravity well where he'd managed to trap them for so long. In his alarmed haste he foolishly ordered one of his ships, The Purity of Purpose, to make a short slipspace jump to stop them. That decision cost him another ship. For reasons still unknown to him, the Purpose was destroyed before it could begin the slaughter. After targeting a small human vessel, the resulting blast effectively decapitated the Destroyer, an unforeseen but simultaneously avoidable failure had he sent his entire Subfleet.

It was at that exact moment that the rest of the Fleet of Particular Justice chose to arrive, just in time to witness the culmination of his incompetence.

The last of the human ships escaped. As if to further insult him, their slipspace wakes collapsed within seconds of their jumps, courtesy of their proximity to the gravity well which effectively disrupted them. That way they couldn't be followed.

What remained was a planet to be burned and a missed opportunity to be singed into his memory, that is if he survived what was to come.

Not long after the battle's 'conclusion', he had been summoned aboard the fleet's flagship to meet with the Supreme Commander. He'd come unarmed, familiarity having prompted it. He hoped that he wasn't wrong for it.

The way to the Justice's bridge was relatively straightforward. In fact, he could walk across the city-sized ship blind and still arrive on time.

He made his way from the hanger to the rest of the ship, navigating kilometers of labyrinthic hallways until he came to a lift. The door opened and he stopped on. He ascended some 20 levels before coming out onto a lengthy corridor. At the end was a door, and beyond that, his judgement.

Two Majors stood guard. They stood at attention as he walked past and the door cycled open for him.

The bridge was a wide room with various surrounding stations. At its center lay the Command Platform, one twice the size of the one aboard his own ship, the Diligent Atonement.

There was only one other occupant.

Standing atop the command platform was a Sangheili dressed in a golden combat harness, much like his own. Where they deferred was the purple cloak that wrapped around his shoulder pauldrons then cascaded down to the floor at his boots.

Ruca noticed that none of the bridge crew were at their stations.

To his surprise, and secret gratitude, the Sangheili on the bridge was turned away from him. His attention was instead settled on the forward communications display projecting from the bulkhead. On the display was none other than Supreme Commander Luro Taralumee. He was sitting in a seat atop the command platform of his own flagship, the Resplendent Fervor.

"As for Lodamee." Taralumee said, ignoring the presence of the new arrival. "The Major managed to acquire a…very special human."

"Special?" The other Supreme Commander asked with a note of sarcasm. "Aren't they all equally detestable? Is there one worse than the other?"

"Indeed, they are loathsome. However, this human was costly to capture. The Major, the fool that he is, sacrificed his entire battalion to abduct it. What made it even more obvious that this one was worth something was because there was a human in special armor acting as their bodyguard."

From the sidelines, Ruca saw the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice tense almost imperceptibly. "You mean…a Demon was there?"

Taralumee nodded. "Yes, one of those undead creatures that the humans resurrect to fight their battles for them, or so the fables from among our warriors would so have us believe. One of them defended this lesser human female, the one they refer to as Halsey. The Major was able to kill it and abduct the lesser human. The only problem was that by the time he arrived, this Halsey had already been locked away inside a cryo-chamber. I've decided to have this human stored onboard my ship. Once my fleet returns to the holy city, we will have the technicians there work on how to extract our guest without having to risk killing it. Then we'll be free to extract whatever information we wish."

"I understand. My fleet will complete the cleansing of this human world while yours returns for rearmament and resupply. I pray the Gods favor you with a safe journey."

"Until we are deemed worthy to undertake the final journey."

"And walk the path of transcendence."

Ruca watched the display shut off, leaving behind a heavy silence.

The quiet endured for what felt an inscrutable length of time. Ruca sensed every second as his heartbeat rose in his chest, threatening to break from his ribcage and mercifully kill him there. He didn't dare move from the threshold, not until he was called.

Then the Supreme Commander spoke. "Come."

The words alone made him walk forward. Each step felt heaver than the last as he walked up the ramp onto the command platform, stopping a few meters shy of his superior.

There was silence again.

The right hand of Supreme Commander Thel Vadumee rose from his cloak and tossed an object into the air. Ruca caught it. He didn't need his eyes, however, for his trained palms to recognize the feel of an energy sword's handle.

Ruca felt his worries cooled by the dull chill of admission. "I assume you already know."

Thel nodded. "I do."

With his back still turned, the Supreme Commander slowly undid his cloak, allowing it to float gracefully to the floor.

The light of the room was almost repelled by the way it reflected off his golden armor. Ruca spotted the handle of the inactive energy sword he now held in his right hand.

"Supreme Commander Taralumee told me what transpired in orbit, and I was able to personally witness some of it myself."

Ruca gave a slow nod as he inspected his own sword. "I see."

He took a step towards the right side of the command platform. Thel did the same towards the left.

Without words, the two began circling the other with confident strides, observing the other's movements out the corner of their vision. Decades of adulthood could not take away the training of their youth. Weaved into the soul of every Sangheili warrior at a young age were many disciplines, one of them being the art of an honorable duel.

Honorable even unto death, Ruca remembered, as they stopped in tandem. They turned to face each other from where they stood on opposite sides of the platform.

Thel extended his sword arm and his energy sword activated, emerging from the handle in a blink as a crescent base with twin forks of crackling plasma energy. Ruca mirrored his actions.

Thel moved first. Ruca followed suit.

They covered the distance between them in several quick strides before leaping forward. Their swords clashed, creating a shockwave of displaced air that pushed both combatants back several meters.

The test of strength was over. Now came the real duel.

Ruca struck first, lunging with his blade aimed for the Supreme Commander's ribs. Thel sidestepped mid-lunge and span about to slice through the Fleetmaster's exposed shoulder. But Ruca dipped beneath the blow, using his footwork to slide underneath it. He quickly recovered, swinging a foot around to reposition himself as he aimed for his opponent's vulnerable back.

Only it wasn't vulnerable as Thel used his earlier momentum to pivot and catch his opponent's sword with the side of his own. Plasma energy rippled down to their hilts as electrical outbursts flared from the point of contact. They stared the other down, Ruca in slight strain, Thel with a reserved patience.

They broke off and reengaged. Ruca fought to remain on the offensive, barraging the side of Thel's sword while testing for a weakness. It was after an attempt at the other warrior's neck was parried away that he understood his mistake. As Thel had told him the proverb before, that the best offense was a strong defense, he'd forgotten that Thel himself was the living embodiment of that proverb. He specialized in a form of Sangheili swordsmanship that combined modern techniques with ancient combat styles to create what was known as the Exalted Guard fighting style. Few knew it, and even fewer could master it. Ruca just so happened to be facing one such exception, and he realized all too late that by proxy of starting offensively, he had placed Thel within his strongest element. That became clearer after the ninth attempt to slice through his armor was batted away with ease.

He disengaged for a split-second to think. His own fighting style, as few were aware that were still alive after witnessing it, was the quintessential opposite to Thel's. It was a hybrid amalgamation of modern techniques, admittedly, of a less tasteful background.

But tradition could not win him the duel, not against someone of Thel's caliber. He would have to use it. After the heartbeat it took him to consider it, he rushed forward to reengage.

He lunged at Thel's chest to make his intentions seem obvious. At the last second, he feinted to the side as Thel moved to block him and instead swiped at his superior's exposed legs, his weakness. Or not. Thel caught the blade in the middle of its strike regardless.

Ruca ducked away from a response then reengaged, battering Thel's defenses with rapid-fire blows meant to ware him down. Then he would randomly break off and swivel into a crouch to strike out at the Sangheili's lower body, the waistline, the knee and the shin being his regular targets.

Yet Thel caught every attempt. Ruca swiftly backpedaled before he could counter as he probed the Exalted Guard technique for a weakness. Then he remembered that, in the near lifetime he'd known his opponent, and the myriad of duels they shared, he had never actually found that weakness. The same couldn't be said for the other party.

"I thought you would have learned better than this by now." Thel said between blows. The words cut deep for more reasons than Ruca could say, so much that they almost made him stop. He realized then that in his concern for Thel's strength, he'd reverted to his old ways. Even worse, it came up so naturally after all these years despite the endless trainings meant to suppress the dishonorable practice. Still he kept on the offensive, slipping deeper into those old ways.

He slashed at Thel's upper guard then, quickly shifting his left foot back to resettle his weight and open a new avenue of attack on his right, exchanged the sword to his left hand and slashed down at his shoulders. Thel merely flicked his wrist to block it but Ruca wasn't done, fluidly sliding his left foot back and seamlessly passing the blade to the corresponding hand to lash out at his midsection. Thel jabbed down, catching the blade at its arc before it could reach him. He lifted his boot, shifting his weight as he forced the other sword aside, throwing Ruca off balance while bringing his own weapon to bare like the teeth of a Doramir.

It took less than a heartbeat to discern the technique, and even less for Ruca to realize Thel was going on the offensive.

He stumbled away before Thel's foot slammed back down and the downward stab could impale him through his back.

Thel pressed his advantage and dashed forward with his sword leading. Ruca managed to rebalance in time to pass the handle back to his left hand and launch off the opposite foot, using his forward momentum to lean aside from his opponent's lunge. He swung his blade so that it skid across the length of Thel's, eliciting another burst of screaming electrical energy as the two plasma surfaces slid over the other. The move syphoned off energy from the other blade, intensifying his sword's glow as he arced it towards Thel's neck.

Thel fell to a knee to duck beneath the arc of displaced energy, then as Ruca passed, pivoted on his foot, spiraling about to lung upwards with his sword, trapping the Fleetmaster's weapon between the two teeth of his own. He arose with the same motion and spiraled again, plunging Ruca's blade deep into the floor, pinning it there.

Then Thel disgorged his own to strike his immobilized target, but Ruca deactivated his blade and rolled backwards across the command platform before summersaulting off the edge, evading the attack. He landed in a crouch on the ground floor several meters below.

Ruca knew that once Thel went on the offensive, the last place he wanted to be was an enclosed space like the platform. Here on the ground floor Thel would have to come down to fight him in his own element. He stood as the Supreme Commander walked towards the edge.

Thel observed him warily. "You…have forgotten much. I will reteach you."

Ruca tensed, preparing himself.

Thel leaped.

Their blades clashed once more in a burst of sizzling energy as Thel landed, but this time the shockwave forced Ruca back several more meters while the feet of his opponent remained unmoved.

Ruca snapped his mandibles in growing frustration and moved to charge. Thel beat him to it, leaping forward into a roll then coming up to slice at the Fleetmaster. There was another shockwave. Again, Ruca was forced back.

So that was his strategy; using constant direct attacks to keep him from using his advantage of open ground, Ruca realized.

Ruca disengaged and reengaged, struck then leaped back, lashed out then rolled away only to arise into a sinuous stream of attacks. Even that wasn't enough to break through Thel's command of the Exalted Guard which he upheld with each deflection while he aggressively pursued him.

There was another clash of swords that pushed Ruca back. He took a moment to reexamine his surroundings. They were back near the command platform's ramp. He laughed to himself. "Your blade certainly hasn't dulled over these years." He said, turning to Thel.

"I wish that I could say the same for you." Thel replied as he strode forward.

Ruca lashed out first in another stream of rapid blows. Thel dodged them all as expected, but before he could press forward, Ruca fell back to sweep his legs out from under him with a kick. Thel stepped back, almost expecting the move. But Ruca continued his spiral, this time with his energy sword aimed for his adversary's approaching legs via a perfectly balanced, nearly prone form being maneuvered by one hand upholding his entire weight.

The disc-like maneuver was the perfect challenge to Thel's lack of maneuverability, only it wasn't as he jumped high enough into the air to avoid it.

Yet here was an opening.

With Thel off the ground, Ruca had a brief opportunity. He simultaneously coiled the muscles in his arm and legs then sprung up from the floor like the serpentine creatures of his homeworld, pulling his knees in close to his chest so that he rotated up to face his fellow warrior.

Their eyes met as he whipped his sword up towards him.

Thel made no show of his surprise as they clashed in midair. Plasma energy thundered and lightninged out.

Thel forced the blow aside before slamming his powerful knee into Ruca's lower jaw, sending The Fleetmaster flying back and tumbling across the floor. As Thel landed on his feet, Ruca caught himself and swiveled into a defensive crouch.

"Interesting technique." Thel said with an examiner's tone. "And I believe there was one you tried earlier."

He suddenly dashed forward and delivered a series of strikes to Ruca's defense that proved heavy-handed yet fluid. The latter could tell by their heaviness that everything up until now had been Thel holding back in the way that it took more strength and energy to deflect them.

Then Thel did something unexpected.

He pulled back then lashed out again, although this time he twisted his wrists and leaned back slightly in balance with each blow. He hit his mark, slashing across Ruca's energy shield and draining it by a third.

Ruca couldn't stop the immediate follow-up in time as Thel shifted his weight without switching the sword hand in order to slice diagonally, draining his energy shields by another third while barely missing his armor.

With a final shift of his feet, Thel delivered the last swing at his waste. Ruca's shields collapsed completely. Thel never gave him the chance to react as he deactivated his own sword, spiraled about and delivered an upward kick to his lower jaw.

The Fleetmaster flew several meters then crashed to the ground. This time he found it harder to get back up. His shields were utterly drained and slowly recharging.

A shadow descended upon him. He turned as his shields flicked on.

Standing over him, Thel aimed his energy sword and reactivated it so that the blade leaped down to within a centimeter of Ruca's throat, disrupting his energy shield before it could return into place. It flickered then dissipated once more.

The Fleetmaster felt the skin on his neck bristle at the heat. Still he looked Thel in the eyes with a resolved stare.

"That." Thel said. "Is the correct example of what you attempted earlier by switching sword-hands. Only one who is disgraced uses his left, remember that."

Thel switched off his blade and held out a hand. Ruca stared at the gesture for a moment. He then switched off his own weapon, attached it to his belt and took the hand. "I thought you were aiming to kill me."

Thel pulled him up. He looked over his subordinate then laughed. "I was, but only if you failed my test."

Ruca grimaced, still ignoring the pulsating pain in his lower mandibles. "Test?"

Thel nodded towards the center of the room. Ruca followed him back up to the command platform. As they did the forward display reactivated to show the space around the Ascendant Justice. Elements of the fleet, Destroyers, Battlecruisers and others were already descending towards the western surface of Miridem.

"I wanted to ensure for myself that there is still a warrior in you." Thel explained.

Ruca took note of the sizzling hole in the floor and the exhaust that leaked from the partially boiled conduits below. "I know there is no excuse for-"

Thel held up a hand. "Like I stated before, I am fully aware of the situation in orbit. I called you here and tested you to discern if weakness was the cause. That conclusion has fallen short. What I don't know is why you hesitated to finish the work you had already started. Now then…" His gaze hardened. "Why did you hesitate?"

'Why?' Ruca felt his blood boil at the question, though not with anger. He'd hid it from others for years, and from himself for even longer. But the Supreme Commander would only accept the truth. There was no room for lying or devious machinations within the Fleet of Particular Justice. Thel had made that expressly clear after their original formation by a reassembling of the fleets.

He took in a breath and exhaled, though he couldn't bring himself to meet the Supreme Commander's gaze. "Do you…think the humans are worth destroying?"

It was a question no Covenant warrior worth his salt would've had a problem answering. But Thel didn't. Instead he looked him over with a modicum of intrigue and suspicion.

"I have neither the time nor patience for mind games, Fleetmaster Voramee."

Using his last name wasn't lost on Ruca at all. When operating in an official capacity, to call him brother would have been a breach of protocol, however true it may be. Still, in private there was no need for it. Then again, it spoke more to Thel's own firm adherence to military conduct than anything else.

Ruca took in another breath as he glanced up at the screen and the images of other Covenant ships moving down to the West to commence the orbital bombardment.

"I've…had some time to consider the matter…"

"That being the matter of the humans?" Thel asked.

"Yes. In regard to their sin…the one that made them irredeemable before both the Gods…and the Hierarchs."

:********:

"So you believe that this is all…unjustified?" Thel asked, almost daring him to suggest as much.

Ruca shook his head. "No, Supreme Commander. That is not what I meant."

"Explain." Thel gestured for him to go on.

Ruca stopped to gather his thoughts. "Do you recall the history of the Taming of the Lekgolo?"

"What of it?"

"During that time, we tried to eradicate them after we learned the truth of the Rings of Te; what they were and what the Lekgolo had done to the legacy of the Gods there. They committed a great heresy against them in desecrating the orbital. Yet, there was found a number of Lekgolo that ate around the structures belonging to the ancients, thereby being innocent of heresy. Those were the ones we inducted into our Covenant thanks to the work of one who was disgraced."

Thel scrutinized the Fleetmaster closer. "What is your point?"

"My point is that we spared the Lekgolo that did not commit heresy against the Gods. We even let them inside of the Holy Ship. We also spared the Unggoy after their rebellion. Yes, we glassed their homeworld but we did not outrightly declare them a sinful race and wipe them out entirely, even when it was well within our capability to do so."

Ruca's stance straightened as years of festering questions were finally given a voice.

"Why didn't we spare the humans a similar courtesy?"

Thel didn't move to answer so he pressed on. "I am certainly not the first Sangheili to ask these questions. When this war began, the Hierarchs told us that the humans destroyed an entire Reliquary on the world where we first encountered them. We knew this to be true since it was declared to be so by the Holy Ones. We were told that the rest of their kind were heretics and all equally deserving of destruction. But since then…we've found few if any reliquaries beyond those that were discovered during the battles for their first world. How then could the entire species be heretics? Certainly, like the Lekgolo, there would be some who found ancient structures and did not defile them." He pointed to the screen. "My Luminary and that of Supreme Commander Taralumee found no relics on this planet. At the very least, the fact that there are no reliquaries suggests that these humans are…by our own judgements…innocent."

Thel's gaze held within their glaring depths an unmistakable threat. "I hear this and I must wonder, do you…doubt…the words of the Hierarchs?"

Ruca quickly bowed his head in submission. "That is the source of my problem, Supreme Commander. I do believe them, that their words are true, sent from on high. I do believe that the surpassing wisdom of the hierarchs is beyond my grasp, that the humans are perhaps deserving of a higher judgement than what we have executed before. And with all that I have I have served and will continue to serve." His head lowered slightly further. "But I still doubt. And it is not them that I doubt."

"Not the Hierarchs?" Thel asked with genuine inquisitiveness. "Then who?"

Ruca felt that they had reached the heart of his fears. He felt it weigh down his eyes so that again he couldn't bring himself to look at his superior.

"It is us."

"Us?"

Ruca spoke so low that it came out as a whisper. "We Sangheili. What if…a small number of us, a fraction…did something so blasphemous in its magnitude that our entire species was declared irredeemable." Ruca willed his eyes to meet Thel's. "And deemed unworthy in the eyes of the Gods to join the Great Journey."

A silence unlike any other broke out between them.

It was broken when Thel suddenly laughed. "Are you saying that you believe some among our kind could make an error so disastrous that it would cost us all our salvation, one that we've worked towards for generations?"

He was mocking his question, Ruca could tell. Nevertheless, he remained serious. "It happened to the humans."

Thel's mocking air slowly and painfully dissipated into an unamused glare, causing Ruca to stiffen. He strode towards him, then did something Ruca hadn't been expecting by placing a hand on his shoulder. "What do you see?" Thel asked, pointing to the screen.

Ruca looked up. "I see a human world burning."

"That is not all there is. There is also the rest of my fleet. You could have looked up there yourself and seen your own fleet…were it so easy."

Ruca could feel where the conversation was going. "We've spoken on this matter before, Supreme Commander. I swore to myself that I would not forsake my name, not again."

"I understand that." Thel sighed. "However, you and I both know that without it, and with the caliber of skill you possess, that you could have become a Supreme Commander by now just as I am."

"I will accept the cost. I will remain steadfast as long as I do not return to what that name represented."

"Will you really? From what I've seen, you still have some of that representation within you, and it worries me." He turned to Ruca. "I knew your discipline had frayed by the way that you fought, fine at first until you began falling back into what you were taught to avoid. Arguably that is what gave me the upper hand."

Ruca remained adamant. "I am still able."

"I know you are. However, you willingly bare a name that most would swiftly relinquish if they were able. Do not compound your situation now with doubt…especially of your own kin."

Thel pointed at the screen once more. "Those are our kin; they share our nature. Do you doubt that a single one of them will stand fast? Not a soul amongst my fleet would rather risk facing failure over their own demise, at the hands of their own sword or mine." He removed his hand from Ruca's shoulder.

"However, should such a one be found among our ranks then I will personally see to it that they are removed before their cowardice can taint the rest of my fleet." He slowly rounded on his subordinate. "Is that understood, Fleetmaster Voramee?"

Ruca stood at attention. "Yes, Supreme Commander."

"Then you're dismissed. Return to your remaining Subfleet and assist in the bombardments at the Southern Pole. After a few days we will return to the holy city to refuel and rearm. Hopefully, there we can find you additional ships to fill in for those lost in this battle."

Ruca bowed once more, then turned and made his way down the ramp. He stopped in the threshold of the exit, considering something. He remained quiet, however, and left the bridge without another word.

:********:

For the first time in a long while Thel felt uncertain. It wasn't about his own faith, but that of his Fleetmaster. Their conversation had bordered on the heretical. Thankfully Ruca expressed that his faith was still in the word of the Prophets. That came as a subtle relief. That said, he couldn't ignore the doubt that the Fleetmaster felt towards his own kind, a doubt that could cost lives, and in this case, costed them the lives they could have extinguished from amongst the inhabitant humans here.

He hoped now that he had reached him over those doubts. Though he would never admit it to him personally, Ruca was his best officer within the fleet. He was able to think on his feet and apply himself quickly to tactically intractable situations. That trait alone had manifested in the way he'd successfully turned what could have been the defeat of the Third Fleet of Glorious Consequence into an absolute victory over the human fleets. And that with just 10 ships.

He had potential, one that he couldn't allow to be wasted, not when the work of the Gods was at stake.

Thel refocused his attention on the report made by Second Blade Officer R'tas Vadumee. Or rather R'tas as he'd known him. He marveled at the way that even with his own mind he kept at that authoritative distance. It was one necessary for leadership, for commanding respect and cohesion. But it occasionally bothered him every so often when it came to such matters as those he knew.

He held up a hand and the display changed, showing images of the fighting that occurred in one of their cities at a structure called a Starport. He ran through images taken by R'tas' Silent Shadow unit which showed as Covenant forces overwhelmed human defenses. But then the situation began to change, showing how Covenant warriors were beaten back by the humans who were rallying behind figures in special armor.

As he came across the first image of these 'special' humans he couldn't help but shiver with disgust. He remembered how, years ago, he felt a similar revulsion while on a mission for a Hierarch. That mission had cost him the lives of his entire command at the time including a subordinate whom Ruca was starting to remind him of, which was why he was so adamant to correct the Fleetmaster's course now before it was too late for him. That distant time had brought Thel to a dire crossroads in his own faith when he found himself at the center of a conflict of interests of unspeakable proportions. It was for that very same reason that he vowed no such conflict of interests would ever exist within his fleet.

Above all, he remembered the Demon.

That human, no, that creature in gray armor that had assailed him on a Kig'Yar ship, had fought him in hand to hand combat, and nearly won. 'Unholy Alien', he had called it as he strained against it. He remembered seeing the human numerical symbols on its breastplate: '006'.

The Demons in these images wore different colored armor from the one he'd fought but possessed similar numerals. It meant that there were likely more of them.

As he saw one image after another of warriors slain at their hands, Thel decided that these creatures would have to be dealt with sooner or later, and he already had in mind the perfect counter.

He flicked through more images until he came to a stop at one that showed a single Demon leading two others. It was running extremely fast and firing at something offscreen.

Thel forced down his revulsion for the sake of curiosity as he looked at what might be a potential leader among these strange aliens. He found what he was looking for in the numerals on its left breastplate: '117'.

Dubium – Doubt


	31. Beta - Chapter 1 (Pactum)

Chapter 1 - Pactum

September 27th, 2544 (12:05 Hours – Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Aboard Punic-class supercarrier UNSC Trafalgar

:********:

Duncan would have maybe given an arm or a leg for a glass of water. It wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being free but it would've been enough to deal with the dryness in his throat. He certainly wouldn't mind a fair share of water and freedom together. Today he was lacking in both.

The UNSC Trafalgar doubled both as the flagship of the Epsilon Eridani Fleet and the pride and joy of the Navy. As one of the few of the Punic subclassification it was also an architectural marvel, especially considering its 4-kilometer length.

It was Duncan's first time onboard. He only wished it were under better circumstances. That wasn't to say it wasn't a ship of the line, but more so that the brig happened to be his least favorite location.

The Forward section of Levels H through L were nothing but isles upon isles of holding cells, 200 in total. Each individual cell could accommodate four each. Most were unoccupied save for a few dozen, the two belonging to Squad Epsilon being among them.

Pairs of Marine MPs patrolled along the catwalks, rifles in hand, as they moved across the brig's five levels to make routine checks on the prisoners held within.

One pair was passing Duncan's cell. He crept from where he was on the floor and stopped just short of the bars. "Hey Donaldson."

The named MP stopped midstride to turn to him. "What?"

Duncan forced his eyes to look pleading, even though he was just as ready to attack the man and take the canteen attached to his belt. "Spare any water?"

Donaldson snickered. "You just had breakfast not too long ago and now you're already thirsty?"

Duncan shrugged, laughing away the façade. "You see, ugh….no, I didn't. Help a soldier out, please?" He pointed to the canteen.

The MP shook his head. "You can wait, you won't die. I mean, you're a Helljumper, aren't you?"

"Yeah but-"

Donaldson carried on walking with his partner, leaving Duncan with nothing except a parched mouth. He slipped back and sat against the wall, sighing in defeat.

Nova sat against the opposite wall with her head resting on her knees, probably softer than the cell's four wall-mounted bunks. Dressed in an orange prison jumper like himself, she exited the mental headspace she'd drifted into to escape the monotony of staring at the same wall for the last two weeks to shake her head in pity. "Should've just shivved him and taken it. You know Donaldson's a piece of work."

"That would've only made it worse, no?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "We're already in prison. What more can they do?"

"Maybe shoot us."

The two of them turned to the speaker, looking past the Staff who was sleeping on one of the top bunks to see Zack crouched near the far wall with his back turned to them. Duncan could tell he was doing something to the wall.

"Honestly, I'll take a bullet over a plasma bolt any day." Nova exhaled. "At least one only kills you, the other one just roasts you from the inside out until you stop kicking."

"Graphic." Duncan laughed.

Nova shrugged. "Reality's graphic. I'd still rather be getting shot at by plasma than rotting away on this ship for the rest of the war, wouldn't you?"

"I'm kinda split on that." Zack admitted. "What about you, Irish? Ready to get shot at again?"

Duncan didn't know how to answer. On the one hand this was the most R&R he'd had since first arriving on Reach. On the other hand, it was still prison. They had spent almost two weeks here waiting on a sentencing.

He couldn't help thinking about how they'd gotten here in the first place.

Shortly after boarding the Swiftsure, the ONI Lieutenant Commander had them arrested by Marines. The Staff told them not to put up a fight, although Deaks threatened bloody murder when a private relieved him of Silver Buddha.

They were kept within the brig for the remainder of the trip then were transported to the Trafalgar while the rest of 7th Battalion returned to Falchion, without them of course.

Duncan didn't regret anything and he doubted anyone else did either. That didn't change their current situation. They were at Agent Cordova's mercy, and for however long, they would probably never be free again.

Despite that reality the ODSTs almost seemed to ignore it, treating their stay aboard the Trafalgar as more of a vacation than anything else. Considering what they'd somehow managed to survive back on Miridem, it wasn't so bad a comparison.

Each night they slept soundly then met together during their few free hours with the rest of the squad. They ate together in the cafeteria at mealtimes while everyone else looked on, whispering about them being ODSTs and telling others to avoid them. Duncan didn't mind the clout. It made him feel a bit bigger than he actually was when the larger inmates kept their distance.

While the idea of a hiatus was nice and fun, it fizzled out once they were sent back to their cells. All they could do then was sit and think and try not to look suspicious since the MPs tended to check their cells more frequently than anyone else, thanks to their being ODSTs. Pros and cons abounded.

Yet there were two major cons that kept Duncan up at night: Erica and Noah. It sunk in day after day that he might never see them again. The promise he'd made to Erica on the day he decided to join the ODSTs haunted him. He wondered what they were up to right about now, if they would ever find out what happened to him, or if they would ever forgive him for winding up like this. He couldn't stop torturing himself with wondering what it might be like if Noah had to grow up without a Father, then the pain would only sink in deeper when he remembered that, in a way, he already was.

"Do you regret it, Iris?"

It was the Staff. He'd managed to fool them all again by feigning sleep and had taken notice when Duncan took too long to answer the question.

"No sir." Duncan said. "Just thinking about my folks back home is all."

The Staff opened one eye to look down at him. "Don't think too hard, you'll only end up hurting yourself if you do."

Duncan could never say his squad leader was out of touch. That small piece of wisdom hit close to home in more ways than one. It made sense. Worry wasn't going to do him any good, even though it was the single strongest tether he felt connecting him to Erica and Noah at this point.

"Yessir." He replied. He wanted to change the subject if he could. His curiosity led him to Zack who was still crouched near the far wall. However, he looked like he was leaning towards something, a drawing, with his mouth open.

"Zack?"

Zack suddenly stiffened. He turned around, quickly retracting his tongue into his mouth. As he did, Duncan saw the feint outline of a hamburger drawn on the wall with a black marker, and it was glistening.

Everyone got an eye-full of it before Zack could back-up in front of it. He glanced between their suspicious expressions as he gave a toothy smile. "He-, hey, what's so interesting? What are we all staring at?"

"Zack?" Nova said, now arching a brow his way. "Did you-, were you just…licking the wall?"

Zack shook his head enthusiastically. "No."

"Did it taste good?" The Staff asked.

Zack looked up at his leader. He seemed to give in and sighed, hanging his head low. "No."

Nova fought to stifle a laugh. "Why don't you try some salt next time, see if it works?"

The radioman blushed. "Leave me alone. I just-, look, I wanted something other than what we already get here. I know roost beef is better than the standard MRE Pack we get saddled with for weeks on end. That doesn't mean I don't want anything else."

"And what exactly do you want?" Nova asked, still laughing.

Zack folded his arms across his chest to show he wasn't kidding. Nova held up her hands. "Okay-okay, explain."

"Well, back in Crisium there's this restaurant chain called World Cuisine. Ever heard of it?"

"I think they've got a bunch of locations on Reach too. They're pretty solid foodwise."

"I know right?" Zack said, his face lighting up with vigor. "Listen, they've got the best and I mean the best burgers. I hear they're even planning on making a Moa Burger to add to the menu." He clawed at his agape mouth as he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling with rapturous awe. He pointed back to the burger drawing. "That is my life's final goal, to eat that thing. I'm fine with dying afterwards once I get to try it out."

Nova couldn't keep herself from laughing again. "And what if they take a long time to add this… 'Moa' Burger?"

Zack's eyes were beamed with determination. "I don't think you get it; I'll live as long as I have to. The point is…" he held his hands over the depiction. "This will be mine."

Nova looked between the drawing and her squadmate, shaking her head in pity. "And still you keep asking me why you don't have a girlfriend yet."

The Staff sat up in his bunk. "Use that spit of yours to erase it before the next patrol comes."

Zack turned a deeper shade of red. "I-, no but-"

"I could make it an order, trooper. If they find out you have a marker on you then there'll be hell to pay."

The radioman turned towards the spawn of his creativity in defeat. "Copy."

In the funniness of the situation Duncan felt himself loosen up. He drifted to another topic, one more lighthearted and a bit more hopeful. "So, if we get out of here and I get a chance to go back home on rotation, where do you guys think would be a good place for a family vacation?"

"Luna." Duncan said as he maneuvered his sleeve to smudge away the drawing. "Keep it local and keep it simple. You'll get to see a nice Earthrise too. It almost makes me miss home now that I think about it."

"I'm thinking Havana, Cuba back on Earth." Nova said contemplatively. "Never went myself but I saw a few advertisements on Waypoint. The beaches there are beautiful, I'm hoping I get to go there one day honestly."

"Cabash, Tribute." The Staff added in. "Best place for attractions, especially historical ones. That's what I like at least. You should probably talk with your wife about it first."

"Yeah, will do." Duncan said. "In terms of distance, I'm thinking Havana, then Luna and Cabash. I like all of them really."

"You just better hope they're still there once this war ends." Nova said.

She had a point. Seeing his first glassing had hammered that point home to him that nothing, no matter how massive, lasted forever.

Footsteps outside brought everyone's attention to the cell bars. The two MPs from earlier stopped in front.

Duncan carefully glanced over at Zack and was relieved when he saw that he'd already erased the burger drawing.

Donaldson came close to the bars holding his MA5B one-handed. "Chow time. You know the drill."

The ODSTs got up and assembled in the center of the cell with their hands held high. Donaldson swiped a card over a wall scanner and the bars slid aside. He got to work patting everyone down, except Nova who was handled by his female counterpart. Once they were done, they allowed them to walk out and escorted them along the catwalk.

As they walked, Duncan noticed dozens of other inmates being allowed out of their cells but not being escorted. They four were the exception, them and the other half of Epsilon walking on the opposite catwalk under the watchful eyes of MPs.

"Are we really that scary?" Zack asked, noticing the same thing. He looked over his shoulder at Donaldson. "What do yo think?"

The MP grimaced, enough of an answer to please Zack who laughed to himself. "Guess we are."

Duncan didn't mind it too much. He was just relieved. At least he could finally get some water.

:********:

If there was ever a blight on Lieutenant Commander Riat Cordova's life, it would have to be the man she was currently waiting for in the Trafalgar's Hanger Bay 4. He was an acquaintance on occasion and an enemy when it was expedient. There was no telling on which basis he was coming to visit her today. The fact remained that after a year without any contact whatsoever, he had suddenly reached out to her asking for a meeting.

She'd decided to entertain him simply because he said he had an offer for her. Then there was the fact that she was actively looking for a distraction that might take her attention away from her current dilemma.

Since the Battle of Miridem, and the hijacking of her initial mission, she had been left to rot in a perpetual state of being on standby. Her superiors told her to remain on the Trafalgar until further notice. Their last correspondence was almost two weeks ago. In that time, she had done little except muse over operational reports declassified throughout data-streams shared between Subdivisions of ONI Section II. That, and deciding what charges she would level against the ODSTs of 1st platoon that had sabotaged her mission. The potential data-breach that her failure posed was on her. Her only saving grace was the fact that a team of Spartans had been redeployed to Miridem to conduct the asset denial and partial recovery operation in her place. They cleaned up her mess for her. She hated to see it that way but that didn't stop it from being true. She speculated that it was the reason why she was being kept on standby for so long. It was a kind of unofficial probation, a way for her higherups to say that it wasn't really her fault she was accosted by rogue special forces, but at the same time wanting to temporarily place her on suspension until the proverbial 'heat' died down.

She hated all of it yet couldn't protest any of it either.

Cordova was pulled from her thoughts when one of the doors to Hanger-4 opened. At first the transitional tunnel beyond looked empty save for the flashing emergency lights indicating oxygen recompression.

Then she saw it.

It started off as what looked like a gathering of angry flies. Then the shape grew more defined and the high-pitched whine of thrusters came to ear.

The craft's stealth ablative coating flickered off and its full image appeared. It was a UNSC Prowler. By its matt-black color, as well as the impressionable appearance of a cybernetically augmented Bat, she deduced that it was a Corvette class.

The ship carefully emerged from the transition chamber then rotated 180 degrees in the hanger bay before descending on one of the larger landing pads. Its landing gear emerged from the bottom, allowing it to settle down with a light thump, as if it didn't want to disturb any of the other spacecraft or hundreds of air-service and hanger personnel moving about their business throughout the hanger.

The ramp descended from the belly of the craft. The moment it touched the ground a familiar figure came strolling down its length.

The first thing she noticed was how unassuming he was, so unassuming that it seemed deceptive. He sported a dark gray UNSC Navy Officer's uniform with a large collar guard and armored vest whose color almost made him blend in with his ship. The Pyramidal insignia of the Office of Naval Intelligence adorned either of his shoulder pads. However, he lacked the dignified air of an officer as he took his time nonchalantly sauntering down the ramp with his hands buried in his pockets.

His slicked back hair appeared brown and his eyes almost midnight black. He looked tanned. Whether it was a trick of the light or if he actually changed, Cordova couldn't tell as he stepped out into the hanger's overhead lighting. The illumination pried away her first observations of him as his skin turned abnormally pale. His hair appeared as its normal black and his eyes a familiar gray sheen which darted from left to right, searching for something before finally settling on her.

He spotted her on the ground floor and gave a slight smirk. She held back her scorn as he turned for the pad's stairwell. She felt her right hand shifting towards her sidearm then quickly checked the action. Old suspicions died hard.

She watched him descend the stairs and stroll casually towards her. Her attention settled on the vest' nametag, 'CDR. D. Tarkovsky'. He offered her a hand.

"Hey GF, how's it going?"

Cordova felt her blood boil. She refused to let her irritation show, knowing Agent Tarkovsky's observant nature too well to risk it. "I told you before not tocall me that."

Tarkovsky retracted his hand and looked disappointed, a well calculated expression. "Geeze, I thought we were on an informal basis here." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I guess time doesn't heal all wounds, huh?"

"Cut the crap. What are you here for that you wanted a physical meet-up?"

He held out his hands defensively. "Hey now, I just wanted to talk. That's all, talk. It's been a few years since I've last seen you. I figured we could have a little chat, maybe catch-up."

'A chat'. The trap had already been set, she realized. He was waiting for her to walk into it and asking nicely. She knew she was probably playing with fire but she decided to humor his little mind games, for now at least. Perhaps in doing so she would discern his real intentions.

Cordova nodded towards the far end of the hanger where there was an exit door. It was a five-minute walk, long enough for a casual 'chat'.

Tarkovsky followed her lead down the walking space on the ground floor. They were initially quiet as they passed under the shadows of looming helipads holding Longswords. The sound of whining hydraulics, rolling carts and the banter of normal conversation filled the void between them.

Tarkovsky spoke first, although with the ease of someone who was already talking. "So, how is she?"

"Who are you talking about?"

He gave her a knowing look. She was already aware who he meant. She just didn't want to give him the satisfaction of an easy conversation starter. "She's fine."

The other agent nodded. "I'm assuming life at Camp Lincoln's treating her well then."

Cordova felt a flash of worry course through her veins. She suppressed her reaction again. She scolded herself internally that she shouldn't have been surprised at what he knew.

"I would assume so, yes. She seems to be adapting quite well from what she told me when I last checked in."

"Good to hear." Tarkovsky said. "I was more than a little surprised when I found out she left us. I know it must have cost an arm and a leg to get that okayed by she-who-must-not-be-named."

"Who?"

"The Queen of England herself of course. The Immortal one."

"Ah…it did. I think it's worth it though, it's what she wanted to do so…I support her decision."

"That's incredible, seriously. The fact you guys actually managed to pull it off. She's the first of us to ever get away like that. I doubt its ever going to happen again."

He perked up at some thought. She noticed his grin widen slightly. "Speaking of us, have you spoken to White recently?"

"Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"Sounds like a no then. I was curious to see if you haven't been isolating yourself from the family."

"You're not family."

"Like a family."

"No, you're not."

Tarkovsky sighed. "Geeze you're stubborn. Fine, I guess 'we' don't count." He was about to say something else when his attention drifted upwards towards a craft parked atop one of the passing landing pads. It was the latest and most evolved derivation of the F-series jets of the past, the F-41 Exoatmospheric Multirole Strike Fighter. It was a Broadsword, the Longsword's cousin.

He pointed up to it. "You know, those things have an Atomic internal reactor, Quantum-based slipspace capacities and Lowered emission drives. The whole package." He squinted up at a crew doing maintenance on a removed section of protective wing paneling. "I'm guessing they're doing shifts at 3 to 6, maybe 9 to 6 seeing how tired the crew chief looks. Then again, his other assistant looks lively so I'm thinking it's a 1 pm gig. They're probably overhauling the starboard wing, purging the aeronautic systems for a retouch and recalibration." He glanced back to find Cordova staring at him incredulously.

He shrugged. "Sorry, can't help myself sometimes. I'm a Navy guy after all, noticing a ship's finer details can't be helped."

Finer Details.

Cordova knew that if there was a such thing as 'a man's man' then Tarkovsky was a Spook's Spook. The average ONI Agent knew how to wield information as both the proverbial stick and carrot, using their knowhow to apply the appropriate motivation to those they needed to manipulate. Then there was Tarkovsky who had taken that technique and perfected it. He disguised the carrot as the stick and vice versa without anyone knowing which was which until he deemed it useful to tell them. Where most agents feared information leaks, he was a leaking faucet, always drip-feeding data-hungry associates what they thought they wanted to know, unaware that in actuality he was catching them in his web. He never made it seem like anything more than desirable intel, only to come back months and sometimes years down the line to tie everything together in a way that prompted them to act in his favor.

So far, he had talked about two people she knew. Then there was the F-41. How did that all connect? She wasn't sure, not yet.

"Enough games." Cordova said. "Get to the point. Why are you here?"

Tarkovsky shrugged off the question. "Well, I personally don't like rushing into things but…I came because you want to give me something."

Cordova arched a brow. "And what exactly do I want to give you?"

The other agent pulled out a datapad from what at first looked like a seamless section of his vest and turned it on, typing one-handed as he spoke. "I heard you ran into a little bit of trouble during your last op. Word is that a couple of ODSTs gave you the sack on Miridem. As you can imagine, and I certainly can, that doesn't bode well with anybody in the intelligence gathering sector."

Cordova's eyes narrowed to slits. "What are you getting at?"

He kept typing. "What charges are you lining up for those troopers?"

She fought the urge to grind her teeth in order to tell him. "Insubordination, assault of an officer and, I'm not fully sold on it but due to the magnitude of our mission at the time, aiding and abetting of the enemy."

Tarkovsky whistled. "The big three? You might not get away with that last one since it'll be harder to prove." He turned to look her in the eye. "However, none of that will be necessary."

Cordova stopped in her tracks. "Why is that?"

Tarkovsky took a few steps further then stopped near the stairwell of another pad. He smiled at her while flicking down his screen. "Because you've got eight bargaining chips to use to your advantage. Play your cards right and you might just get a full house."

Cordova started catching on. Realizing that sensitive information was about to be discussed, she decided to keep them walking so no one else would overhear. "Explain."

"Here's the gist."

He handed over the pad. She immediately recognized the faces of Squad Epsilon along with attached service career and civilian life files beneath their names and ranks.

"These guys got you in trouble with some pretty big fish." Tarkovsky said. "Personally, I like that they were willing to knock you unconscious to save a whole bunch of civies. It's pretty noble if you ask me."

"Good thing I didn't."

"But now they're in trouble." He continued. "And you're about to rain down a whole lot of hell on their heads for what they did. I understand you're following protocol. I'm simply saying there's no need to punish them, not when we can get a good use out of them."

Cordova spared him a sharp look. He must have noticed as his grin widened. "It's a waste what you're planning to do to them. It's certainly not going to get you out of the hot water you're in. However, it just so happens that they have a specialty that me and my CO are looking for."

"I assume you mean Ackerson?"

"You wouldn't be wrong in that assumption." He paused for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts, something that Cordova thought he never did since he was such a conversationalist. "Those troopers happen to be among a very small few trained in the usage of an experimental equipment…one that will be critical to the success of his Special Weapon's Program, you know, the one I told you about two years ago?"

He had told her.

Cordova swallowed, accepting that they were on the precipice of discussing highly classified information. "Go on."

"You want to give me those ODSTs because it'll help both of us out. Think about it this way. Firstly, considering how valuable Ackerson's program is and has been to the war effort for the past few years, if the higher-ups find out you donated assistant personnel to help the program, boom, no more hot water. Secondly, those troopers don't have to face court martial, not if you drop the charges in exchange for their service. After they're done, they can return to active duty with the rest of their battalion."

Tarkovsky pointed out a link to a file. "Open that."

She did, albeit reluctantly. The link opened up to the image of schematics. Cordova connected the dots. How could she not after spending the better part of all of February supervising the training for the usage of these same devices by the ODSTs?

"And what about you? What do you get out of all this?"

"I get to fill out my recruitment quota. We need people for this particular job and you just so happen to have them."

Cordova breathed the plan in. "You seem confident that I'll hand them over. What makes you so sure I will exactly?"

"I can tell the face of a person caught in the purgatory of an unofficial suspension." He leaned closer. "You want off the Trafalgar. I want those ODSTs. Those ODSTs undoubtedly want their freedom. Everyone wins this way."

The Lieutenant Commander briefly thought back to how the AI, Mr. Green, had told her Tarkovsky would have no trouble convincing HIGHCOM to commence a certain operation. She hated the memory because right now he was making more sense than she was willing to admit. She wanted her next mission. But she also wanted to see those ODSTs pay the price for putting her in this position to begin with. Maybe this was the best way for all those desires to be satisfied, just using a less direct approach than the stockade.

"Its…a good plan." She turned to him. "Even though it is, I'm only willing to accept it on two conditions."

"Being?"

"First, a question. Were you involved in Operation BAGMAN, that situation on Epsilon Eridani IV?"

Tarkovsky's lips tightened enough for her to notice. He looked like he was weighing his options. "I can neither confirm nor deny that I planted an EMP charge on the portside hull of that ship 20 minutes in advance of the arrival of the main battlegroup into local space…if that's what you're asking."

"I knew it, a Prowler was involved. So it was you that knocked out the Omen's electronics?"

"Like I said, I can neither confirm nor deny that, or that Ackerman decided to keep me on for the main show after delivering all the equipment you were training with to Anchor 9 for transit to the Juno."

There was that web again. "Alright, that's all I needed to know. The second matter is this, I'm only willing to drop the charges if the ODSTs agree to your offer. If they don't then it's a one-way ticket to the stockade for them. If they do-"

"They will." Tarkovsky interrupted.

"Do keep in mind that these troopers are willing to go against the grain to do what they think is justified. If they don't choose your offer willingly then there's no way you can convince or coerce them to do otherwise."

Tarkovsky gave a light chuckle. "I guess the bruise on your forehead taught you that?"

She glared hard at him. It merely made him laugh hardier. "It's a deal then." He stopped, again, taking back his pad and extending his hand.

She reexamined the gesture and found it not so challenging to take it with her own hand and shake. There was a minute mix of hesitation in the act and the other agent must have sensed it. "Like I said, no worries. I'll be taking them off your hands."

"I hope so."

"I know so." He turned to leave.

"Wait, I haven't even told you where they are yet."

"Don't worry." He said, walking on without looking back. "I know where to look."

He waved back to her. "I'll make sure to tell you how it went."

Cordova watched him walk the rest of the way to the exit until he disappeared behind the closing doors.

Her mind still swarmed with information, as was often Tarkovsky's modus operandi to drown a person with intelligence in order to knock them off balance.

Everything always connected one way or another. She wasn't sure what he was going for when he mentioned the two persons she knew. She did, however, know that for a 'Navy guy', he had somehow gotten every detail about the Starfighter wrong. The F-41 didn't have an Atomic internal reactor, Quantum-based slipspace capacities or Lowered emission drives. That didn't stop her from noticing the pattern. Atomic, A, Quantum, Q and Lowered, L. Then there were the numbers: 'doing shifts 3 to 6, maybe 9 to 6' and 'a 1pm gig.' She placed them together to form an Alphanumeric code.

AQL 36961. Or rather, AQL 3696-1

It was an Artificial Intelligence identification number. She didn't recognize it at all.

Then she remembered something else he said: 'Purging the aeronautic systems', 'retouch and recalibration'.

She froze for a heartbeat when the revelation dawned on her. Cordova quickly took out her own pad and rushed into the administrative suite. She scrolled through isles of files until she found something in her downloads. It was an unfamiliar file extension, one nearly buried among many others whose names it had copied to camouflage between them. She pressed it and was immediately alarmed.

Inside was the disguised source code of what she knew had to be an AI's subroutine. Judging by its extensions, it was connected to multiple avenues of communications, including her own contacts and recent conversations.

She immediately engaged her counter-intrusion software to terminate the subroutine's source, however long it had been on her device. At the same time, she sent the signal to activate the dead man's switch on her main server to purge everything. The software uprooted the intruder's virus-like connections in less than 3 seconds.

A post-autopsy of the killed subroutine popped up, revealing every application it had connected to. Many of her communications had been observed by it. What terrified her most was how it possessed access to the ventilation systems of several places she had been to recently.

She checked its source code. It matched the one she'd discerned from Tarkovsky's secret message. She wasted little time setting up defensive software meant to block out whatever origin or medium that Subroutine had used to get in.

There was no way an AI could have accessed her through her regular service lockouts. Not unless it had an encryption key to bypass those firewalls, a key that could only have come from someone further up the chain of command. That part worried her more than the first revelation.

Cordova looked back at the door Tarkovsky had just walked through. She felt a little shaken and secretly thankful, realizing that he had probably just saved her life.

:********:

The Staff walked with cuffed hands down a hallway with his two MP escorts. He wasn't sure why they had called him out or where they were leading him. Since he had no clue what their final destination was, he decided to stay quiet until they arrived, then figure out the situation from there.

After ten minutes spent navigating along hallways, they stopped on what he assumed to be somewhere amidship. They stopped at an unmarked door which slid open.

Judging by the rectangular steel table at the center of the medium sized space before him, The Staff pieced together that it was an interrogation room.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a man sitting on a nearby windowsill with a view of Reach's upper atmosphere. He could tell he was Navy. The bulk of his concerns revolved around the ONI insignia on his shoulder.

The mysterious Navy commander didn't turn to acknowledge them once they entered. Instead he gazed upon the planet with a wistful look, as if he were remembering something.

"Remove his restraints." He said.

One of the MPs used a key to take off the cuffs. The Staff rubbed his sore wrists, relieved to have them free again.

"That will be all gents, you can leave."

"Sir?" One of the MPs spoke up. "Are you sure?"

The agent waved a dismissive hand.

The two MPs gave each other a concerned look. As ordered, they saluted and left, closing the door behind them.

The Staff refocused on this ONI Agent, glancing between him and the chair. "Am I supposed to sit down?"

"You can."

The Staff pulled out a seat and settled down. The table was bare, the air tense and he had yet to be told why he was even here. His attention resettled on the agent. He saw his name tag, 'CDR. D. Tarkovsky'.

"Is there a reason I'm here, sir?"

"Yes." The Commander took out a pack of thick cigarettes from his pocket and held it out to him. "Sweet William?"

The Staff shook his head. "I don't smoke."

"I see. A shame, you'll be seeing a lot more of these where you're going."

"Sir?"

The man sized up the ODST for a moment. "Staff Sergeant David Atell, is that right?"

The Staff gave a tentative nod.

"I'm Commander Tarkovsky and I must say, I am a fan. That whole thing you did back on Miridem, knocking out that Lieutenant Commander to save all those civilians, taking out those AA Cannons with a fraction of the force normally required, then making it back alive to the Swiftsure. If it were up to me, I'd say that you deserve a medal, not a court martial."

He sighed. "However, said LC is not happy about it for obvious reasons. I'm sure you know that she's lining up charges against you for your actions. If what she's thinking pans out in the courts, it means bad news for you and your remaining ODSTs."

The Staff's eyes narrowed. "My apologies sir, but I'm aware of the predicament of my men. Might I respectfully ask why you've called me here specifically?"

Tarkovsky grinned. "Straight to the point. Alright then."

He pointed to a datapad on the table that The Staff hadn't noticed there before. "I've got an offer for you. Turn it on, check it out. It might just save your life." He said the last part with a quiet forebodence that the Staff took with a hint of concern. He did well to hide it as he took the pad and turned it on.

What appeared first were three structural schematics of a drop pod. He knew the shape of an HEV when he saw it. Then he looked again, realizing it was a different model than the standard issue. "…I recognize the design. What does this have to do with me and my troopers?"

"Glad you asked." Tarkovsky slipped off the window to walk towards the table. Instead of taking the seat he remained standing and rested his hands on the table's smooth surface. "During a mission months ago you and your ODSTs trained in its usage along with the rest of your company. Since it was an experimental design, you're currently among a small pool of people with experience using this equipment. You're also the only ones currently available for our use since you've been pulled from active duty."

The Staff clenched his jaw, feeling a cold weight settle in his gut. He could tell he wouldn't like the answer but asked the question on his mind anyway. "I'm sorry, 'our' use?"

Tarkovsky's grin turned to an amused smirk, as if he'd finally gotten to the point that he wanted to all along. "I want you and your squad to work as facilitative personnel for the Office of Naval Intelligence."

The Staff felt his eye-twitch at the string of words leading to a conclusion that, were it a person, he would have shot if someone made the mistake of giving him a gun. The ever-perceptive agent took notice and held up his hands.

"Please understand what we mean by this. Think of it as a paid internship."

"And what exactly are we being paid?" The Staff asked.

"Your freedom." Tarkovsky said, shrugging. "I came to an agreement with Lieutenant Commander Cordova. She's agreed to drop all charges against you if you decided to accept my offer. Do understand that after your designated period of service, you will be allowed to return to active duty with the rest of your company. How does that sound?"

It sounded like he was being asked to pick his own poison to the man who had spent most of his military career fighting to survive. The Staff never knew that a lifetime spent avoiding people like this would culminate in him being forced against the wall and told to either join up or throw in the towel. Knowing how shady ONI was from an outsider's perspective, he almost found himself regretting what he'd done to the LC. Almost.

The Staff shook his head. "Sir, I'm…thankful for the offer, however I-"

"Declining wouldn't be in your best interests." Tarkovsky deadpanned, taking the pad from him. "Nor would it be in the best interests of your men."

The Commander typed something then passed it back. The Staff found himself looking at a long list of criminal charges, several of which were highlighted.

"These are the charges against you: Insubordination and Assault of a CO while under extremely vital operational conditions. If proven in court, this combined carries a minimum of a lifetime sentence for everyone involved. Everyone. But those two are the least of your worries." He pointed to one in particular. "Possible aiding and abetting of the enemy, if proven under the articles of the Insurrection Act of 2430, comes with a hefty punishment. I'm sure you know what that is."

The Staff felt the cold feeling in his gut swarm into a blizzard that freezer-burned through his veins. He knew it was a possibility, but now he was certain that the Lieutenant Commander had the intent to use it. He shut his eyes as he answered. "Execution."

"For all parties involved." Tarkovsky finished as he walked around the table. "That, we cannot allow. Not for people of your caliber that this war needs." He sat on top of the Staff's side of the table and rested a hand on his shoulder as if he were a friend. The Staff only felt a tinge of despair, and to a lesser extent, fear. It wasn't for himself but for his troopers whose faces all flashed through his mind. They were as much family to him as the one he'd left behind. He shut his eyes even tighter as he realized how hopeless their situation actually was.

Tarkovsky removed his hand and leaned back a little, somewhat relaxed. "I'm sorry to tell you what you should already know, Staff Sergeant. When you cross us, the smart thing to do is to find a way out for yourself. Then again, maybe you were trying to do the honorable thing in getting arrested. I understand the sentiment although I think if it were me, I would've done the opposite and made a run for it."

He leaned forward again. "So, what's the verdict?"

The Staff knew he was walking on ice. Whatever he said next wouldn't decide his fate alone. The entire squad would share it. He couldn't simply lead them to the lethal injection room, not if he could save them and get them back on the frontlines. But to work for ONI? He wondered which was worse: being euthanized or working for employers who had a track record of making even the most insane conspiracy theorist seem like he had a point.

"What…will we be called upon to do, exactly?" The Staff asked.

The Commander's smirk eased into a satisfied smile. He could tell they were getting somewhere. "I can't tell you everything now, not unless you agree. The skim-level of information I can give is that you will be assisting the training of personnel that hold…extreme value to both the UNSC's current and future efforts against the Covenant. Rest assured; your work will be vital."

The Staff took a moment to consider the matter. It didn't sound all that terrible. He was still curious as to who these personnel were yet kept that curiosity to himself. "How long will we be expected to work for you?"

"Can't say. Not yet at least."

"What about our status while we're doing this?"

"You'll be temporarily listed as Missing in Action. For obvious reasons we can't simply say you went to work for us."

The Staff suddenly caught himself. Was he really about to make a deal like this? Still, the alternative was even worse. Nova, Deaks, Hector, Yuri, Rico, Zack and Duncan: He couldn't bring himself to sentence all of them to their deaths or rotting in a cell for the rest of their lives for a plan that he arguably deserved all the blame for. He especially didn't want Duncan to suffer that fate, remembering that he still had a kid of his own. The Staff Sergeant quickly shut off the thought, knowing why he took exception to his being a Father. He looked the agent straight in the eyes. "Am I allowed to speak with the rest of my squad about this matter?"

"If I wanted you to, I would have brought them here as well." Tarkovsky said drily. "This isn't really a job interview where I interrogate everyone involved. You're the squad leader. The call rests with you."

"Can I at least get some time to consider it for myself then?"

"No. Neither of us has the time. I need an answer from you here and now. A simple yes or no will suffice."

The Staff swallowed as he closed his eyes again, tighter this time. For some reason he found himself thinking about Harper and Joels. His chest felt a little heavier at imagining their tough and determined faces ready to face anything the world had to throw at them. They had faced just that, and it cost them everything and everyone under their command. He held back the sensation inside that he had kept at bay since Miridem, one that could drive him to grief if he weren't careful to hold it back behind the need for strong leadership. Now wasn't the time for anything else. Now it was his turn to make a final decision not only for himself, but for everyone else as well.

His mouth opened as his mind forced it to yield to his resolve. He said the one word that he needed to, accepting that he would probably hate himself for it after.

Pactum – Agreement


	32. Beta - Chapter 2 (De Assistentibus)

Chapter 2 - De Assistentibus

October 3rd, 2544 (15:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

In slipspace, aboard UNSC Falkirk

:********:

Working for ONI was a joy, but only if you were the one doing the work and not the one being worked on. Otherwise it was a better summation of civilized hell. Tarkovsky had been doing the job long enough to know what it was like to be on either side of the spectrum.

Another benefit of working for the Office of Naval Intelligence, or at least the Prowler Corps, was that one got the chance to meet more unusually interesting people than the ordinary rank and file. Tarkovsky personally enjoyed the sense of deep comradery shared between the Falkirk's crew of 90.

Four of those personnel were busy at their stations on the bridge.

Petty Officer 3rd Class Natalia MaeSchoff was an expert in manipulating what were known as 'Slipspace Economics', a way of describing her management of the ship's main drive whenever the Falkirk jumped through one of the 11 non-spatial dimensions of Slipstream space. Before joining the Corps, she had worked as a system's analyst for VOSPER Engineering in developing the ground-based generators for Earth's orbital defense platforms. With the war's progression, the company had been ready to ship her out to a newly developing project aimed at getting ODPs setup over the inner-colony world of Ballast when she encountered a mid-20s crisis. The job paid well but she felt she was missing something. She just so happened to think a life in the Navy was that something. Now here she was, shifting her blonde, curtain bang hair out of her eyes as she tediously scanned through the readouts on the displays of her Engineering station.

Then there was Petty Officer 3rd Class Mason Jones. He was a 40-year old navy vet with an imposing neckbeard, a bald scalp and a grizzled baring that would've probably frightened anyone who didn't know him. Before the Corps, he'd served on what was known as a celebrity ship because of the identity of the man that captained it. In his case it was the Marathon-class Heavy Cruiser UNSC Leviathan, the personal ship of Vice Admiral Michael Stanforth. Mason was the ship's Weapon's Officer for the better part of 10 years during which his hardened eyes had seen far more than their fair share of action, and it showed. In his later years he transferred to service in the Prowler Corps with the blessing of the Vice Admiral's personal recommendation. Today he was keeping an eye on the internal temperatures of the Falkirk's several dozen nuclear HORNET Mines to make sure they weren't at risk of overheating.

Next was Petty Officer 2nd Class Dewey Abreo, a man slightly more than half Mason's age and a good deal less hairy to boot. His clean-shaven face was matched only by the non-regulation length auburn hair that Tarkovsky was considering telling him to cut. It was likely his hair had been even longer and more disheveled back when he was rescued from a Remote Scanning Outpost in the Cygnus System. He was one of several survivors of an incident where an RSO stationed over New Jerusalem suffered a massive engineering failure which shot them out of geosynchronous orbit. It took two weeks for the Prowler leading the rescue effort to find the damaged station in the outskirts of the Oort Cloud, though it was only because Abreo risked his life to reach the emergency beacon within a vacuum-compromised section of the station. Since then he'd devoted the last two years of his life to working on the same type of ship that had saved him. While it didn't show through his yawning and lazy-eyed demeanor, he was focused on the readouts of the display at the Sensor station to make sure they were ready for a quick tactical scan of their exit vector.

Finally, there was the man who had served longer in the Prowler Corps than anyone else here, longer even than Tarkovsky himself. Petty Officer 1st Class Ignatio Delgado had his attention set on his console as he steered the Falkirk through the nothingness of slipspace from his seat at the Navigation station. He was a Hispanic man with a perfectly regulation length, low-shorn haircut, average build but with a strong jaw and steely eyes that had seen much. Whether that was action or something else entirely, Tarkovsky couldn't say for sure. Without question, the 30-year old had more high-level information redactions to his ONI service file than any other crewmember currently stationed aboard the Falkirk. He wasn't an agent but he'd devoted 9 years of his life to the Corps after leading a very checkered past. While most of the redactions covered those checkered sections, Tarkovsky could piece together from what wasn't covered in black ink that Delgado had ties to the Insurrection. However deep those ties ran, they obviously weren't deep enough to keep him from passing the UNSC vetting process, boot camp and then working in ONI's Prowler Corps for almost a decade now. Delgado never brought up his past, and neither did Tarkovsky. He knew what it was like to have most of his life hidden away beneath the ink of the organization's need for plausible deniability. The Navigation's Officer was a highly competent flyman that could be counted on in even the most strenuous circumstances, and frankly, that was all the Commander needed to know.

They all ate together in the same cafeteria, slept in the same quarters and worked together around the ship. On any given mission the lives of their fellow servicemen were in their hands, and most certainly in the Commander's. It gave him a special perspective on life in the service that he wouldn't have had had he not gotten himself reassigned to the Corps. Most agents never got to see the fruit of their labor in who they were gathering information to save, merely taking satisfaction in the disembodied amalgamation of statistics for the remaining human population that dwindled every other month. To see those that actively relied on you to make the right call brought with it a sense of intimate connection them. He knew that Staff Sergeant Atell would agree, especially considering both him and his squad were currently onboard.

Slightly less than a week ago he'd overseen the transfer of the troopers from the Trafalgar to their own temporary quarters aboard the Falkirk. He'd even gone out of his way to make sure all their belongings were returned to them before their departure.

Today he would finally debrief them on the specifics of their new assignment. He'd kept them in the dark long enough. The fact that none of them moved to ask him any questions either since leaving Epsilon Eridani spoke volumes.

He checked the time on his display at the captain's chair. It read '15:25 Hours'. He had another five minutes so he briefly went over the details in his head then got up from his seat.

"Alright, I'm heading to debrief our guests. Before I go, I want final readouts people. Tell me what's what."

MaeSchoff spoke first. "We might've spent a little too much time during our side mission to the Trafalgar, sir. I've tried everything. My quantum field calculations aren't getting past 4.4 quadrillion per second. That's more than enough for a Phoenix-class colony ship seven times our size and we're still not making bank in terms of time."

Tarkovsky nodded. "Noted. Abreo?"

The Sensor Officer stifled a yawn as he stretched his arms at his station. "Forward, Mid and Aft Sensors are calibrated and ready for immediate use the moment we slip out of slipspace. As for Communication suites we're…" He squinted at a display. "Up and operational thanks to yours truly."

"Understood. Jones, how about it?"

Jones scratched his beard in thought at two individual displays. "Hornet Mines are sitting at 30 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm cycling them through two more thermal cooldowns to get them down to 20."

"SHIVAs?"

"They're stabilized at about half that, well within the safety range."

"Copy." The Commander turned to the last officer who answered before he could ask his question. "Want me to lie to you, sir, or would you like the honest truth?"

"Lies first."

Delgado shrugged. "We're right on time. Nothing but smooth sailing ahead."

"Uhuh, how bad?"

Delgado sighed. "MaeSchoff' s right about the whole time-thing. At the rate we're going we won't arrive for another two days. We're already pushing the acceleration threshold to maximum. Another five million more quantum field calculations and we'll be looking at breaches in our hull integrity as well as potential Cherenkov radiation leaks. I don't want to make a mess for Basilone and the rest of the engineering crew down below so my hands are kinda tied."

"…I see." Tarkovsky considered their situation in light of the newest updates. The initial goal was to arrive at their final destination in under a week. Splitting off their path to head for Epsilon Eridani had cost them time. He'd hoped to get the ODSTs and split since he was already on a tight schedule. Even with how fast they'd gotten the job done they were still behind on their delivery. He would have to simply apologize when he got there. He told the bridge crew just that as he made for the doors.

"Try not to scare them…too much." Abreo chuckled. "Wouldn't want them spacing themselves before we actually got there, especially considering we're still in the Slip."

"Aren't they LRSOIP Specialists?" MaeSchoff asked. "They shouldn't have any qualms about it."

"Yeah, but we don't have any of those special pods on us now. If they jump out, we'll never see them again." Delgado added.

Abreo grinned at the NAV Officer. "That's the point, Gado."

"Relax," Tarkovsky said. "I'm not talking them into suicide...at least not directly."

Jones waved a dismissive hand from his station. "You guys quiet down and let the Commander get going. You know how he is with last minute convos. If you start him up, he won't leave."

Delgado shrugged. "Fair enough."

"Get going Commander." MaeSchoff said in a sarcastic, sing-song voice.

Tarkovsky nodded and left through the doors, running over the details of the debrief in his head. He had kept quiet on the details till now so that the ODSTs wouldn't have the chance to hijack his ship and turn them around, not that he believed they would, but he wasn't about to get blindsided like Cordova either and took her warning seriously. Even his own bridge crew had to be kept in the dark about certain things that their missions entailed. It was all to preserve their own plausible deniability, and with respect to the true essence of what he was about to discuss, they would all need their fair share of it.

:********:

To Duncan, the Falkirk was more of a luxury liner than a Prowler. The sleeping quarters were first rate and the toilets never backed up, unlike those on other ships that did just that almost ritualistically. The shower was warm, the food hot and the air condition cold. It was a five-star experience compared to the brig of the Trafalgar, and the debriefing room had to be the highlight of the entire experience.

Several rows of semicircular seats ascended from a large walking space on the main floor. The seats were comfortably cushioned and the aircon chilled the room in such a way that he found himself ready to drift into some breezy dream when the doors suddenly opened.

Squad Epsilon's attention snapped to the doors on the main floor as they slid apart and Commander Tarkovsky strode inside.

In a moment of hesitation Duncan wasn't sure whether to salute the man or stay put. The source of the inner conflict stemmed from the fact that he hadn't wanted to be here. None of them had. But they didn't have a choice. By the way that the Staff explained everything to them when he returned to their cell days ago, telling them about the Commander's offer and what it meant if they refused, Duncan knew they'd been backed into a corner. Being in the same room as an ONI officer was already bad enough. Working for them felt like a mortal sin. However, sin or no sin, they were here, onboard an ONI prowler, about to work for them.

He eventually stood with the rest of Epsilon in saluting from the two rows they occupied. They were all dressed in their ODST T-shirts and camo fatigues.

Tarkovsky took the middle of the ground floor. He quickly looked them over, probably to make sure everyone was present. "At ease."

The troopers sat down, watching him with an intensity that was wholly warranted.

The Commander snapped his fingers. The large, wall-mounted screen behind him turned on. ONI's symbol slowly faded into view.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Tarkovsky began. "More like lady and gentlemen, welcome to your new lives for what will be the next seven months."

Though he didn't show it, those last words pierced Duncan like sharpened arrows. Without moving, he glanced over at the Staff. A few of the others were looking to him as well, mostly with disguised concern beneath their poker faces. The Staff remained stoic, looking straight ahead at the Commander.

"For those of you that are concerned, yes, you heard me right. Starting in two days, your service to the Office will begin and run from October 5th, 2544 to April 25th, 2545. During this time, you will be expected to work under the same branch as I do."

Tarkovsky stopped to let his words settle. "That's right, welcome to ONI. You'll be working under Section III within a highly specialized and equally classified division known as Beta-5. There's a very short list of people within the UNSC and even in ONI who know we exist, and as of ten seconds ago, all eight of you are on it."

There were sections in ONI? That was news to Duncan. He'd always thought everyone worked under a single umbrella of organization, not several.

The screen behind Tarkovsky changed to show: 'S-3/B'.

"For the next half-a-year or so you will be assisting in a specialized project. To even speak to you about this matter is highly confidential and its disclosure to non-certified personnel is punishable by an indefinite suspension of habeas corpus. To put it plainly, we're allowed to shoot you if you don't have the credentials to receive this info or if you pass it on to anyone else equally unqualified. For that reason, I require you to sign your personal signatures on these contractual agreements."

Beside each ODST, a section of paneling next to their individual seats shifted aside and datapads slid out vertically from the openings. They tentatively took the devices which automatically turned on in their hands.

On his, Duncan saw the title beneath the ONI symbol: 'Beta 5 Division (Section III X-Ray Directive /Eyes Only/)'. Beneath that was a lengthy list of contractual requirements and obligations spanning eight pages. He peered over at Deaks who sat a seat away as he simply flicked to the bottom of the document and used his finger to sign his name on the line. He looked like he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Duncan took a breath and did the same thing, ignoring the stipulations at first. He stopped halfway through, feeling that he really should read what they were asking of him. It was ONI after all. He raised his hand. "Excuse me sir, are you saying we take a bullet if we listen to the debrief without signing this first?"

Tarkovsky shook his head. "Not necessarily. You can just walk out." He pointed to the doors. "However, know that by doing so you're also walking out on our agreement."

Duncan sensed an unspoken threat. There was no way they were going back to the Trafalgar to drop off one ODST in the brig. Since they were already going God-knows where, it was likely they wouldn't take too kindly to a freeloader loafing around the Falkirk either.

Duncan swallowed. He gave the contract stipulations a cursory glance. There was little comfort in finding only a few violations warranting death outside of conveying classified information, which was understandable. It didn't mean though that there weren't other terrible punishments promised in the document. He took his chances and signed his name on the bottom line. By then the others had already finished signing.

"Good, please return the pads." Tarkovsky said. They did and the devices retracted into the slots shortly after.

The main screen changed again, this time showing a line of persons.

Duncan perked up as he recognized them right away or thought that he did. His nerves settled when he realized it wasn't the Spartans that they'd encountered on Miridem. The squad had plenty of time to think on the armored strangers back aboard the Trafalgar. They speculated on who they were or what they were precisely, although those conversations always led to the same dead-ends and different speculations.

Now on the screen were more of these so-called Spartans. Only they didn't look like the ones they'd fought alongside. Their armor was different. It was a similar shade of green but their helmets were more uniform, reminding him of those worn by Air Force pilots. The armor design was similar to what he'd seen but still different in a way that he felt only the squad's engineering specialist could describe. The image was positioned at an upward facing side-angle, showing the Spartans standing side by side, each armed with MA5K Carbines and the flag of the United Nations Space Command waving behind them.

"As per the X-Ray Directive, you are now officially authorized to receive this information." Tarkovsky said. He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment, then reopening them with renewed fervor.

"Starting today, you eight are now facilitative personnel for the Spartan III Program. Your job will be to assist drill instructors already on the ground in conducting the final training stages for the candidates of Beta Company."

Duncan's first thought was to wonder one thing…why 3? Did that mean there was a 2 or even a 1 designation? His head swarmed with questions. So did the rest of the squad who stayed mostly quiet, their eyes fixed on the image of the Spartan IIIs.

Seeing that no one moved to ask any questions, the Commander continued. "To be specific, you will be lending us your knowledge in the use of these."

The screen changed again, this time displaying three individual images. They were schematics showing the top-down, side and frontal profiles of a pod that everyone recognized. Studying the exact dimensions of these pods had been vital for the last operation they'd undertaken against a more human threat what felt like a lifetime ago.

"The Long-Range Stealth Orbital Insertion Pod has yet to enter mainstream usage due to its experimental nature. However, since its initial test under real-world combat conditions during Operation BAGMAN, it's undergone further improvements to the accuracy of its slipstream transition technologies. Regardless, it hasn't changed so much that your expertise becomes unvaluable. In fact, its invaluable since you're among few with heavy experience using them. You will work to transition your expertise to the Beta Company Spartan IIIs along with assisting in other training exercises throughout the duration of your stay at Onyx."

Tarkovsky could already detect more questions forming at the last name-drop and his smile curled with satisfaction. The screen behind him changed again, this time displaying a blue and green planet against a backdrop of stars. "Onyx is a highly classified location within the equally secretive Zeta Doradus System of the Dorado constellation. It's the unofficial home of the Spartan IIIs and now yours temporarily."

There was another shift to an image of the surface. It was a heavily forested area save for a set of buildings forming a distinct horseshoe shape. There were a few noticeable parade grounds as well. "You'll be staying here at Camp Curahee. Here is where the Spartans hone their skills and specialties. Get an eyeful because the next time you see it, you'll already be there."

The screen changed once more, this time capturing the individual profiles of three persons, two considering that the third's ghostly glow disqualified him immediately.

The first was the frontal profile of a man in an officer's uniform. He had hazel eyes, brown, low-shaven hair and a slightly cleft chin. There were several scars on his face that appeared more like the aftermath of some medical procedure than the result of normal damage. He looked to be in his early thirties and smiled in such a way that seemed both earnest and strong, a natural leader by appearance alone. "This is Lieutenant Commander Ambrose, the man in charge of the day-to-day operations of Camp Curahee and the resident Spartans. You'll be working under his direct leadership for the duration of your stay."

He pointed to the second picture which showed the similar profile of a man that was almost the first' polar opposite. He was older, perhaps in his early fifties with a head left nearly bare save for a light coating of white hair. He had a set of scars running from brow to chin, a stony face and a hard stare that suggested he was ready to kill the photographer. "This is Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez. He is a veteran Marine, drill instructor and the worst nightmare of most Spartans. He serves as the Lieutenant Commander's righthand man and is second-in-command of training operations on Onyx. Keep in mind that he's not anywhere near as hospitable as Ambrose."

"I can tell." Duncan said under his breath, swallowing down his rising nerves. He was starting to feel way over his head. To make matters worse, Tarkovsky wasn't even finished yet.

He switched to the final 'person'. What at first seemed like a kindly old man with a walking cane was proven to be an incorrect assumption by the minute trails of code that floated over his skin. He had chiseled features, eyes that glowed a cold white and, on his back, a snowy cape that blew out gales of snowflakes and ice. "This is the AI Deep Winter. He keeps things running around Curahee. You'll be seeing him quite a lot during your sojourn."

Tarkovsky clasped his hands together as he appeared to reach the end of his presentation. "Now then, are there any questions?"

The room was quiet, almost uncomfortably so. The only person that didn't seem to pick up on it was Tarkovsky himself as he searched around the room.

It was ten long seconds before someone hesitantly raised their hand. It was Hector. "These…Spartan guys, you said they were 3s right?"

"That's correct."

"Does that mean there are other Spartan-types, like 1s and 2s?"

The Commander shifted his jaw around, contemplating the question. "I'm sorry, you don't have the clearance for that information."

It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a no either. Duncan couldn't help wondering which it actually was. These Spartans looked different than the ones they'd encountered like the Master Chief, so maybe there was some weight to the question.

"Any others?" Tarkovsky asked.

There was another span of silence before the Staff raised a finger. "Two actually."

"Go ahead, Staff Sergeant."

"First, its been some time since we've actually used the LRSOIPs. Our skills may not be as sharp. We're not trained instructors either. Will we get a chance to acclimatize to our roles?"

"Yes. I spoke with the Lieutenant Commander before we left the Trafalgar. We agreed to get you trained for at least two weeks on how to handle the Spartans before you're reassigned to direct tasks with Beta Company. Plenty of time for you to refamiliarize yourselves with the Stealth Pods."

"Understood. Second question." The Staff leaned in, pensively rubbing his chin. He shook his head. "Actually, never mind."

"Right, will that be all?"

No one else spoke up so the Commander took the hint. "Alright then, there's something I want to show you all." He gestured towards the exit. "Follow me."

:********:

Tarkovsky led the ODSTs along a few hallways until they reached a section of featureless wall. He placed his hand on an area of the bare surface. A second later a small section of the wall came apart and a retinal scanner emerged along with a bio-scanner right beneath it. He stood close to the first to allow it to get a scan while placing his hand on the second.

There was a beep of confirmation from both devices. Seams suddenly appeared, tracing out a rectangular door that hissed apart for them.

What lay beyond was a dark, open space. Tarkovsky placed a finger on his earpiece. "Get me lights."

Overhead lights turned on one row at a time, bringing the room into a fuller view. Each light shone upon the pillar-like, cylindrical capsules the size of cryo-pods that latticed the room, which was slowly panning out to be more of a chamber. On each ground-mounted capsule was a display and keypad that pulsed with readouts of whatever was stored within.

At first Duncan only saw a few dozen. Gradually he could make out hundreds of the capsules that together formed a kind of incidental maze.

"Hit the switch." Tarkovsky said into his earpiece.

The lights on the capsules themselves turned from a pulsing red to an active green. There was a collective hiss as across the space, they began to open. As they did, they revealed hundreds of the same set of armor standing on pedestals that they'd seen worn by the Spartans in the presentation.

The Commander made his way down a short staircase onto the main floor.

The ODSTs came down after him, moving with mixed expressions of awe and suspicion as they looked around. The individual armor sets bore either male or female proportions. Names winked on the capsule displays, assumedly those of the wearers which were followed by the letter 'B' and then triple digit ID numbers. The ID numbers of those in front suggested that the armor sets really started from the back since the ones they were looking at now were between the ranges of the 290s and 320s.

Tarkovsky stopped in front of a set with male proportions. The name on the display read: 'Tom-B292.'

"This is Semi-Powered Infiltration amor or SPI, Mark II. They feature photoreactive panels that mimic the surrounding textures of any environment." He pressed several buttons on the keypad and the armor winked out of peripheral existence. There were a few 'woah' sounds and looks of intrigue from the troopers. After looking for a few seconds they made out the slight visual distortions that retained the shape of the SPI armor.

"Since when did we get active camo?" Deaks scoffed. "That would've been nice to have a few, I don't know, years ago."

"It's a derivation of the Covenant's active camouflaging technologies." Tarkovsky said. "We've reverse-engineered it to utilize those capacities within a select few armor systems such as these." He placed his hand behind the armor. Sure enough, they could still see it although the system's light-bending technology somewhat distorted it. They could notice it because they were staring, but any Covenant that encountered a wearer wouldn't give them a second look since their first guess more than likely wouldn't be to search for an enemy using their own tech against them. That was probably the armor's greatest advantage.

"The camouflaging allows Spartans to conduct specialized stealth missions and carry out objectives with a lowered risk of detection." Tarkovsky pressed the keypad again and the armor flickered back into view. He pointed to the individual components as he spoke. "Some of the components include a Mirage-class Helmet, Techsuit, Environmental controls, Biofoam injection ports, Data sockets and a built-in power cell fueling the entire operation."

He turned to the ODSTs. "The reason I'm being so open about them is because you may be asked to utilize this armor yourselves. Camp Curahee DIs are known to use them in certain simulations. Right now, we're currently transporting these armor sets to the camp for use by Beta Company. The candidates are already lethal as they are, even to people like you, so keep on the lookout in case the Lieutenant Commander calls for you to wear these. You can look at a few more sets if you'd like. Just don't touch them or the special security tasks will activate."

Duncan kept that last sentence in mind. So did Zack. "What special security?" He asked mockingly. "What, is the armor gonna come alive and snap our necks or something?"

Tarkovsky spared him a threatening grin. "Would you like to find out?"

Zack winced and shivered. "I-, ugh…nah I'm good."

The Commander gestured for them to look around. Everyone except the Staff took him up on his offer and dispersed around the room, moving along the lanes of capsules to check out the different armor sets. The Staff meanwhile stayed behind with a pensive look on his face.

Duncan went further right along the very front. As he checked out the different sets, he overheard the Staff.

"Its about my last question earlier."

"Go ahead." Tarkovsky said.

"Back in 2537, at the Battle of New Constantinople, my platoon was fighting near the oceanic border towns. The Covies had us hard-pressed up until we ran into reinforcements wearing this same armor or something similar. We encountered a few individual teams along the way, figured they were just some new ODST units with special armor we'd never seen before. But everywhere they went, we won. We never even got to find out who they were. What I'm getting at is that if Beta Company is still in training, then who were those guys back in 2537?"

"…That…would've been Alpha Company, Beta's predecessor."

"Right…tell me something…if you can anyway. What happened to them, Alpha Company?"

There was no immediate reply. Duncan glanced back to see Tarkovsky and the Staff staring each other down for an unnervingly tense moment. The latter shook his head. "I'm sorry, that's classified information. Highly."

"How highly?"

"I would be obligated to shoot both you and myself under the condition that I told you."

The Staff continued to stare him down with suspicion. At length he gave a slow nod and changed the subject.

Duncan released the breath he'd forgotten he was holding to wonder down to the end of the lane. He found himself looking at the armor set at the far end. It fell on the female side in terms of proportions. He noticed that this one was somewhat different. It had a forearm mounted TACPAD on the left arm bracer. The device had a dock to the MC5 Individual Data Net and was often used by Officers, Intelligence agents and even Cryptanalysts like himself, which was why he recognized it to begin with. He felt a good deal envious of the gear and checked to see who it was that was getting the armor. The name on the capsule display read: 'Catherine-B320'.

He nodded off to the suit with a modicum of respect for the tech. He was walking back towards the Staff when another armor set caught his eye. It wasn't the armor itself but rather the display. There was no name, merely the letter B and a following trio of ID numbers alone. He took a step closer. Why was there no name? Maybe it was a malfunction in the system? He didn't want to risk touching it to find out. He called over to the Commander instead. "Excuse me sir, I think something's wrong with the display on this one."

Tarkovsky excused himself from the Staff's conversation and came over. Duncan pointed to the display. He looked at it. Duncan saw his forehead wrinkle slightly. He momentarily glanced between Duncan and the display and touched his earpiece. "Abreo, shutdown the unit in front of me now."

Someone talked on the other end.

"Alright, just close it."

A second later the capsule's lights pulsed red and it slowly hissed close. Duncan watched the number fade off the display. He turned to Tarkovsky in confusion. The Commander looked at him seemingly on the verge of an emotion Duncan had never seen on the man's face, none at all. He was deadpanned. He laughed it off. "Sorry about that, that one wasn't supposed to be on display. Please." He gestured with an open hand to the rest of the room.

Duncan took the hint and got on his way. As he walked, he chanced peeking back over his shoulder and saw that Tarkovsky was still watching him out the corner of his eyes.

Duncan quickly turned away and joined Hector and Rico near another set. The two were talking about noticeable differences between the male and female versions. He couldn't bring himself to join them, however. For some reason he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to. He joined them as they headed further in to study a few more sets, himself moving a bit more cautiously so not to accidentally run into anything else that he shouldn't have.

De Assistentibus – The Assistants


	33. Beta - Chapter 3 (Lapides onychinos)

Chapter 3 - Lapides onychinos

October 5th, 2544 (11:10 Hours – Military Calendar)

Zeta Doradus System, Onyx

Aboard UNSC Falkirk

:********:

Their descent through the atmosphere was easily the calmest Duncan had ever experienced, mostly because on every other occasion he was running a reentry vector in an HEV pod while breaking the sound barrier. Today he enjoyed riding out the descent within the Falkirk's cafeteria. The room was relatively empty except for squad Epsilon. They'd decided to all stay at their table with their duffel bags shortly after breakfast to discuss a few things.

"I'm still thinking it's not too late." Zack said. "We can still hijack this tub if you guys want. We can turn around and-"

"If you're betting on me getting us all out of here then you have 'nother thing coming, antennae-boy." Yuri huffed. "This isn't Longsword or Pelican, much more complex." He rasped his knuckles against the table for emphasis.

Hector breathed out. "Honestly, we're better off where we're at. I mean, clubbing an ONI officer was fun the first time around, and it saved a lot of lives too, which was a cool bonus, but I'd rather not like to think about what they'd do to us if we tried it a second time."

"Especially given what we know now." Duncan added. "Didn't the Commander say something about ditching habeas corpus?"

"A nice way of saying we're already dead men walking." Nova sighed.

"Dead woman in your case." Deaks corrected. "Or have you been passing yourself off as something you're not?"

She shot the corporal a sharp look and he shrugged it off. "Don't look at me, I'm just no fan of false advertising."

Rico sized him up. "I think you're just trying to get Nova all pissy because you're looking for an outlet. My guess is you're antsy about not being able to take Covie teeth for seven months straight."

"No sir, not true. I'll have plenty of teeth to take from these Spartans."

"…They're not Covies."

Deaks leaned over. "Didn't you see that armor, the SPI or whatever. They're getting active camo. It's nice and all, but the last time I saw it in use was a little under three months ago, back when a Split-jaw tried splitting my own jaw. So, forgive me if these Spartan guys seem a little bit more alien to me than they would otherwise."

"What about that Lieutenant Commander? That Senior Chief Petty Officer? The AI?" Duncan asked. "They look normal."

"They're probably freaks too."

"How do you figure?"

Before Deaks could answer, the Staff spoke up, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes closed in thought. "I'd rather we didn't discuss our new CO's before we actually met them. The Commander gave us a glimpse of what to expect but it's not enough to draw any concrete conclusions. If we categorize them as freaks then there's a high chance we'll go out of our way to avoid them, as well as these Spartan IIIs. We can't afford to allow any preconceived notions or prejudices to cloud our judgements and hinder our performance or we might very well end up being sent somewhere else to do something a whole lot worse. While we're here, we keep an open mind and an open hand whenever we're called to serve, just like back at Falchion. There's no room for anything else here, not with ONI." He opened his eyes to look them each in theirs. "Is that understood, troopers?"

There was a collective "Yessir" from everyone at the table, although Deaks' was delayed.

"What was that Corporal?"

"…Yes, sir. Will do sir."

Duncan thought about that, 'back at Falchion'. He hoped it would be just like their battalion HQ, their home. The test for that hope came sooner than he'd expected as the entry door slid open a few meters away. Two of the Falkirk's personnel dressed in navy jumpsuits stood at the threshold.

"Squad Epsilon?" One of them called out.

"Who's asking?" Hector asked back.

"The Commander wants you at the armor storage chamber to assist with offloading the sets. We land in 5 minutes."

The Staff nodded to the troopers and they got up after him. The ODSTs followed the two Falkirk personnel back through the entrance. Duncan took one last look at the cafeteria, remembered the food he'd eaten here over the course of the last week, and knew he'd sorely miss the place.

:********:

Duncan used the handles on the side of the armor capsule to keep it steady as he felt the Falkirk's touchdown. He pressed the handles' release trigger once he was sure they'd landed. There was a solid thump beneath the capsule, indicating it's release from the holding socket.

"Heck?"

"I got it." Hector said from the capsule's other side as he got a firm hold on the handles to balance it between them.

There came a hiss from all around. Seams snaked along the chamber. There was a slight screech of hydraulics as the entire floor detached from the walls and lowered.

Sunlight streamed through the growing cracks, causing Duncan to squint against the late-morning rays. The first thing to greet him was the intense summer heat, then the smell. There was an earthy aroma in the air.

In ten seconds, the drone of hydraulics dissipated upon their touchdown.

Duncan's eyes adjusted, allowing him to see his surroundings.

Onyx was a world of tropical jungle, or maybe they had come to a tropical region. That much was obvious from the distant tree line of colossal banyan trees, royal poincianas in full red bloom and tropical conifers.

The heat made the far-off horizon waver with the watery mirage produced by the sun. Beyond the trees, he could see the tops of a few of the buildings that made up Camp Curahee.

They had landed on one of the smaller parade grounds two kilometers away from camp. The space was framed by double-layered, barbed wire fencing and dirt trails that walked along the sides.

Commander Tarkovsky stepped off the descending platform first. Duncan and Hector followed, hefting the full weight of the capsule between them alongside the others carrying theirs. It was a fight to keep the heavy storage units vertical so that they didn't slip and hit the ground. The equipment looked more robust than the standard Helljumper BDU but no one was ready to take any chances.

They passed the Falkirk's landing struts and emerged from the ship's shadow. Duncan immediately felt the heat more clearly as it washed over him completely. It was a midsummer kind of heat. He couldn't imagine working in these conditions for longer than a few minutes before feinting.

A few meters in front of the Prowler was a 300 square meter gravel-square set apart from the enveloping grass. At the center was a flagpole with the UNSC banner floating freely in the hot wind.

Tarkovsky led them over to it and let them rest their capsules down near the flagpole. Standing still Duncan found, was even worse. The humid air settled on him like a thick blanket that threatened to suffocate him where he stood. He noticed the others breathing a little harder as well. The combination of heat, humidity and carrying the capsules with their duffels had taken its toll. They'd only walked ten meters from the ramp.

Tarkovsky struck a hard contrast to them in the way that he stood unphased. He squinted at the large dirt road that extended from the mirage-laced horizon, across the parade grounds to the area of gravel. There was no sign of movement except the refracting light that occasionally made the surrounding forest disappear then reappear.

The Commander touched his earpiece. "Tarkovsky to Curahee C&C, I've arrived at Parade-Ground Sentinel with the delivery and additional personnel. Is my pick-up here yet?"

The reply came loud enough for everyone else to hear.

"Curahee C&C to Commander Tarkovsky, we hear you." A man's voice said with the casualness of an old friend. "Mendez is on his way. I'll patch you through."

Another voice came on, this one raspy and audibly older.

"This is Mendez to Commander Tarkovsky, we're on our way. Keep your eyes on the horizon."

"Understood, ready and waiting."

Everyone's attention went towards the horizon of the dirt road. A full ten seconds passed before they heard the distant roar of burbling engines. They slowly made out the shape of four large 18-wheelers baring down the road led by an equal number of Troop Carrier Warthogs.

The heavy-duty transport trucks stopped around the gravel yard while the troop carriers stopped closer. Over a dozen Camp Curahee personnel dressed in camo-fatigues disembarked, several of them opening up the doors of the storage units on the flatbeds.

One of them strode straight towards Tarkovsky. Duncan recognized the older man right away. He was practically the same as his picture, the only exception being that he was wearing regular fatigues and not his officer's uniform. He was the man who was second in command of the Spartan III training program, Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez.

Mendez' stony eyes shifted between the ODSTs as he walked over, likely making quick examinations of each. He finally focused on Tarkovsky who held out his hand with a smile. The SCPO received the gesture with a less than welcoming mug at first that slowly warmed, not into a smile, but a look of respect.

"Want to tell me why you're two days late, sir?" He asked drily.

"Got sidetracked." The Commander nodded at the ODSTs who stood at unanimous attention in the presence of another officer.

Mendez took another second to scrutinize the troopers who were breaking out into a sweat in their ODST T-shirts and camo-pants, even while he seemed perfectly air-cooled. He must have figured out who the leader was by looks alone as he gave the Staff a nod which he returned in gest.

"So is Watershed still using you as their delivery boy after this?" Mendez asked.

Tarkovsky shrugged, fixing his hands in his pockets. "The Division's got me running rough-shot across Orion. Believe it or not this is my first time in six months having my feet on good old Terra Firma. Things have just been getting that bad. After we lost another part of the Nexus Beltway, it's gotten pretty tight in terms of who gets what and when."

"Miridem." Mendez said, considering the name. "We definitely don't need another one of those anytime soon."

"Which is why we'll need Beta at the ready as soon as possible."

"They're almost ready, and if these troopers are as solid as you say, we might very well get our Spartans out there even faster."

"Oh, they're the real deal, trust me." The Commander said, walking back beside the Staff to place a hand on his shoulder. "This is Staff Sergeant Atell, leader of Squad Epsilon. I'd recommend you keep an eye on him. He's got enough balls to knockout a superior."

Mendez stared down the Staff. "Think you got a big enough pair to try that with me, son?"

The Staff didn't waver under his sharp gaze, instead meeting him head-on. "Only if I had to, sir."

Instead of the outrage that the others were expecting, the faint traces of a smile flickered on the ends of Mendez' lips. "I like them already."

Tarkovsky introduced the other ODSTs in accordance with their callsigns. Once he was done the real job got underway.

"I've brought a few DI's here." Mendez said. He pointed to two of the nearest trucks. "We'll load up the SPIs on these ones first. Then we'll use the other two."

"No problem." Tarkovsky turned to the ODSTs. "Ditch your duffels on the Hogs and get on it."

The troopers sprang to their orders. They jogged to the two nearest Hogs and tossed their duffels into the troop sections before returning to the platform. The Curahee drill instructors joined them in hoisting the armor capsules between each other. They ferried them over to the open doors of the storage units while Mendez and Tarkovsky talked more on the side.

They got the first half of the sets loaded up by half an hour. Another fifteen minutes and they were filling up the third flatbed with half of the remaining capsules. By then, Epsilon was struggling to keep up due to the heat. With another fifteen minutes they got the job done. Duncan helped push the last capsule into the stacked container. He breathed a sigh of relief as a pair of DIs closed the doors.

The moment they were bolted shut; the Senior Chief Petty Officer shook hands with Tarkovsky. "Safe travels, Commander."

"I'll try, although that's honestly not my style of captaining."

"Another reason I'm glad I'm not on your ship."

"I bet your Spartans are sad they're not. At least I can escape this place. They can't."

"They want to escape all right, only so they can kill Covenant. They make that more and more clear to me every day."

"I hope the ODSTs can keep up with them." Tarkovsky said, gesturing towards the troopers.

"I can tell that they're the survivor type. They'll adapt."

"Or not." Tarkovsky said, shrugging his shoulders. "Catch you later, Chief."

"Likewise."

Tarkovsky turned and started for the Falkirk. He briefly eyed the ODSTs who stood winded a few meters away and waved at them. "Good luck Epsilon, stay alive long enough and I might just see you in seven months."

They watched him step onto the platform and disappear as it retracted into the ship, sealing shut.

Mendez turned to address everyone. "DI's load up. Troopers, you're on the first two Hogs over here. We'll rendezvous with the Lieutenant Commander back at Curahee auditorium in 20. Move out."

The troopers followed Mendez to the Hogs and jumped into the troop carrier sections. The SCPO revved his Warthog's engines and pushed them down the dirt road, the troop carriers leading while the other four flatbeds took up the rear. Behind them, the prowler's engines came to life.

The ODSTs looked on as their ride to Onyx ascended into the air, turned about and proceeded to slip noiselessly back through the atmosphere, bound for open space.

:********:

The road to the camp was fairly short. In less than a few minutes they were crossing over another parade ground. Only this time there were far more people around.

Duncan saw dozens of men and women dressed in T-shirts, fatigues and boots who ran, crouched beneath and leaped through various obstacle courses. They were too far off for him to make out their faces. However, he could notice their strapping forms. They had the builds and fluid movements of Olympian athletes. One group of a dozen were jogging along the perimeter. Their speeds nearly matched those of the Spartans he'd seen on Miridem, covering distances that the average Marine or ODST would take far longer to.

The convoy came in from the west, passing white quartz paths that hemmed in the long parade grounds. Some of the Spartan IIIs walking along the paths watched them pass by. Deaks who was sitting next to Duncan glared back at them. Being the squad's designated marksman, he had a natural eye for the finer details of any scenery that others wouldn't notice right away. Duncan watched him out the corner of his eye, wondering exactly why he looked troubled, even confused. Whatever the reason was he kept it to himself.

The Staff who was riding shotgun asked. "What're the training hours around here, sir?"

"We primarily conduct physical evolutions from 0400 hours to 0900, then 1020 to 1200 Hours after breakfast." Mendez said, fixing his rearview mirror with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the wheel. "Since we're more on the tropical side here at Curahee, we conduct our drill sessions early on to avoid the heat. They commit to their studies until around 1630 when the sun's a bit more bearable. We continue on to 2030 Hours then call it a day."

He glanced at The Staff and the rest of the troopers through the rearview mirror. "Don't worry, you folks will get used to life out here quick."

Zack spoke up. "With all due respect sir, we're only used to dealing with temperatures like these for about three to four minutes tops, and that's when we're on a drop."

"In that case you shouldn't have come here." Mendez said with a straightness that lacked any polite pretenses. "There's an old saying, if you can't take the heat…"

"Stay out of the kitchen." The Staff said contemplatively, finishing the old idiom.

"Exactly. As much as I'd like to think you and your troopers did a good job back on Miridem, there's no escaping the fact that you're paying for it now. You're not prisoners but you're not guests here either. Consider this a new line of employment that you can never add to your official resume."

"Any expectations for how we'll perform out here, sir?"

Mendez leaned back in his seat as they rounded a bend in the road. "Put out or you'll get put out. If you want the specifics, you'll just have to wait until we get to the auditorium. The LC will explain everything there."

"That would be Lieutenant Commander Ambrose?"

"Correct."

The Staff nodded, letting the rest of the trip pass them by in silence.

They passed the parade grounds and came across the rest of Camp Curahee. Like it had appeared in the presentation, the camp was a 400-meter, U-shaped arrangement of various buildings and individual complexes.

Duncan made out dormitories and armories. There was an Infirmary, mess halls, firing ranges and office buildings. White quartz paths honeycombed the interior while the exterior of the camp was clear of jungle for 300 meters. There was a perfectly geometric inspection yard at the heart of Curahee, and in front of that, the auditorium. It was 30 meters in width and nearly twice that in length with four stories.

The convoy pulled up in front of the inspection yard and they leaped out from their vehicles.

"Staff Sergeant, take your ODSTs inside." Mendez said and pointed to the doors. "You'll get directions from there."

"Yes sir." The Staff gestured to the squad. They grabbed their duffels and made for the revolving doors. Stepping inside, they were greeted by a refreshing chill of air conditioning that embraced them. The front lounge was cool, occupied by a flurry of cascading snowflakes that shifted and coalesced at the holotank near the center of the room. The figure standing atop it observed them with glowing-white and aged eyes whose depths held an elderly wisdom.

The AI leaned on a cane while he spoke. "Squad Epsilon?"

"That'd be us." The Staff affirmed. "Your Senior Chief Petty Officer sent us here for directions."

The AI nodded yet continued scrutinizing them. "I am the AI in charge of running the various facilities here at Camp Curahee. Although, I believe you already know my name."

"Deep Winter, right?" Duncan asked.

He smiled at him. "Indeed. Now with self-introductions out of the way, lets get you all moving."

A door slid open, leading to a staircase. "Lieutenant Commander Ambrose and I are waiting for you on the third floor, debriefing room '7'. Take the first two flights of stairs then head down the hallway. It will be on your left."

Epsilon followed the AI's direction up the stairs and along the corresponding hallway before stopping at the door. It slid open automatically to reveal a semicircular room. There were exactly eight chairs set around the single U-shaped table within.

Leaning against the blank board on the nearby wall was…Duncan couldn't tell what he was exactly, because he was taller than the average man, taller even than a Spartan or an Elite. Somehow, he was equally proportioned, standing at an imposing two and a half meters. His arms were folded across his officer fatigues and his left leg casually crossed over his right. His brown hair was shorn low, his cleft chin bobbing a little as he breathed. His eyes suddenly opened and the hazel pupils settled directly on the squad.

The Staff spotted the bars of a Lieutenant Commander on his shoulders and quickly stood at attention. The others mirrored his example.

The giant of a man smiled and turned to them with hands on his hips. "I'm guessing you'd be Squad Epsilon." The LC covered the distance between them in two far-reaching strides, covering the Staff in his shadow. He extended a hand. "Lieutenant Commander Kurt Ambrose. Nice to finally meet you."

He seemed genuinely welcoming, even despite the several scars on his face and outstretched arm. The Staff took the larger hand and shook it. "Good meeting you as well, sir. We're ready to get work. Just tell us what you need."

Ambrose nodded with an appreciative grin. He looked the others over and pointed his thumb at the seats.

At his behest, they spread out and sat in the chairs.

Duncan saddled his duffel over his lap and watched the LC closely. He was obviously a Spartan judging by his physique. Duncan mentally compared him to the image of the Spartan IIIs outside and couldn't match it. Ambrose was simply too tall, but it made more sense when he compared him against the Master Chief and the Spartans from Miridem. He was slightly taller than them as well. It was still the closest match. Perhaps there really was some truth to Hector's question about different types of Spartans. Now he wondered which fit Ambrose best, being a possible 1 or 2.

The LC returned to leaning against the wall, eyeing each trooper in turn. "Private Iris, Private Second-Class Matthews, Corkeva, Mastovich, Paulson, Corporal Deaks, Specialist Novak and Staff Sergeant Atell…welcome to Camp Curahee. As you know, you're here to assist our program in lending your LRSOIP expertise. However, the ship we plan on using for that practice will not be available for another week. In the meantime, my goal is to mold you all into DIs capable of dealing with our Beta Company candidates."

He clasped his hands together. "This is rather short notice but we hadn't initially planned on additional LRSOIP training, at least not until last month when I was informed by my superior of the availability of the technology as well as a potential, future need for its use by the Spartans. We'd first hoped to incorporate some specialists from the experimental teams that did the original tests to teach the Spartans. That changed when we were informed by Commander Tarkovsky of your…availability." He said the last part with a hint of sympathy. "I agreed to have both the experimental teams and you ODSTs brought in. This way the Spartans will receive a mix of exposure from both trial experience as well as the real-time experience from you all. Before we do that there's something that we need from you."

A holographic image appeared next to the LC. It was a to-scale display of the SPI armor. "Your custom ODST BDU simply won't cut it for the types of exercises you'll be exposed to here. You'll need to learn how to use the SPI armor. You will begin training with it starting in 1800 Hours. Consider it part of your DI preparational training. I'll be busy with the Spartans so Mendez will be the one overseeing your lesson."

Holographic snowflakes appeared and spiraled into the form of Deep Winter, his cape flowing in the simulated breeze. "And I will help you familiarize yourselves with the various armor components and functionalities using available armor sets."

Duncan snuck occasional glances at the others to see if they were just as stunned as he was. To their credit they were better at disguising any reservations they had about the announcement than he was. For him, it was still a lot to swallow. He hadn't thought that anything remotely similar to SPI armor existed a little over three days ago. Today he was about to wear one. Things seemed to keep jumping from one level to the next, catching him off guard whenever he thought he'd already seen the impossible.

"The training session will be brief." Ambrose said, taking over. "We want you to get a feel for the suits over the course of this week. You'll be undergoing armor integration at the same time as the Spartan IIIs. Your training will take place near El Morro Point."

Zack raised a hand. "Random question, what're these Beta guys like sir?"

Ambrose seemed to beam with pride and satisfaction at the question. "Glad you asked. They're some of the most determined UNSC personnel you will ever meet. Their capacities are well above the average soldier, some even more so. There are undoubtedly a few personalities that I know will stick out to you in the weeks to come. That said, they still need a guiding hand to sharpen their rough edges before graduation. Their strength, their speed and wits are easily their greatest assets…and your greatest challenge in training them. Which is why you'll need to get used to the SPI."

Deaks raised his hand. "How old are they on average?"

There was a palpable hesitation from the Lieutenant Commander. He clenched his jaw, looking at the ground like he was considering his next words carefully. "They're…not your traditional special forces."

Duncan noticed that it wasn't a direct answer.

"How so?" Deaks asked.

Ambrose fixed him with a look bordering on curiosity, more so of the corporal than of the question. "You'll see." He looked to the others. "Any other questions?"

The ODSTs looked amongst each other then back at the AI and LC, though not with any questions, only a uniformly determined stare that matched theirs. Yet Deaks' gaze held trace levels of suspicion.

"I guess not." Ambrose said. Then Zack raised a hand. "Go ahead."

"Um, so where's this El Morro Point place?"

:********:

It was night and Duncan found himself trying to catch his breath with his back against a tree while flashlights beamed through the surrounding canopy, searching for him.

He crouched, a remarkably fast feat for his newly issued SPI armor. It was by far more maneuverable than the standard ODST BDU and admittedly lighter. The amenities were good as well. It had a TACMAP feature which he quickly utilized.

El Morro Point was an area several kilometers from Camp Curahee. Two rivers, one running South and another Southwest converged a short distance away from the handful of facilities comprising the point. His personal contact showed him 300 meters south of El Morro. There was still a trek ahead, and he would have to do it while avoiding the patrols.

Two hours ago, Lieutenant Commander Ambrose had briefed them all on what the training session would entail. The ODSTs would spend some time learning about the new armor's various functionalities, and given how similar it was to their own BDU, it took them less than an hour to get used to the systems, most of that time spent learning how to use the camouflaging systems. Then came the actual test. The purpose was to gauge their versatility with the armor in an applied environment. They were dropped off at a location in the middle of the jungle, less than a kilometer south of the Point. Their goal was to reach El Morro while avoiding detection by DI patrols and the observation towers posted around the area. They were to work separately so that their individual skillsets could be examined. Any attempts at coordinating via TEAMCOM would immediately disqualify them, meaning they would have to go through the whole ordeal quiet and alone.

They wished each other luck then went their separate ways.

Duncan had worked his way over half a kilometer when, a few minutes ago, he'd decided to give his active camouflage a break since it had been running for so long. He didn't want to risk it overheating so he deactivated it to use later.

That was his first mistake.

He was making his way along the far-side of a more open section of jungle. Midway to the other side he realized his second mistake as a large floodlight suddenly turned on from a perch on a nearby banyan tree, one he'd failed to check.

It was centered right on him, easily separating him from the darkness. Gunfire started up a second later. He ducked back into the underbrush, weaving around trees as TTR rounds splattered against them. He heard a handful of DIs coming after him and felt a round hit the back of his left leg. The stunning anesthetic quickly started taking affect. Still he managed to get some distance between himself and his pursuers.

He'd slid behind a tree and stayed quiet, reactivating his camouflage in the hope that they would pass by. Thankfully, they did after they couldn't figure out which way he went.

Duncan breathed with relief once the flashlights became more distant.

He spent the next five minutes fighting to stay conscious. The anesthesia effects were strong yet familiar, reminding him of old firefight sessions he'd done with the rest of Class 207 back at Camp Ravenport. He briefly wondered how many of his fellow classmates were still alive, how many of them were still fighting. He thought about Stanton and Cosmo, then O'Reilly, wondering if his last squadmate was still around. It suddenly struck him just how long it had been since he'd last seen his friend or even spoken to him. He forced himself out of his thoughts, remembering he wasn't in the clear yet, not until he reached El Morro. He tried scratching off the angry red polymer on the back of his leg. It was no good since the substance had already hardened.

Then on his external sensors he picked up the sound of running water. He quickly rechecked his TACMAP. To his surprise and gratitude, he was closer now to the southern river.

He forced himself back on his feet and hobbled through the jungle. After 20 meters he came out onto the riverbank. He stumbled to the edge and eased his paralyzed leg into the waters, resting his boot on the stony riverbed. He knew that the plastic polymer dissolved in water and felt it sizzle on his leg as the chemical reaction removed the substance.

While it did, he checked the armor's TEAMBIO which displayed everyone's faces and vitals. His heartbeat was at 60 bpm and rising. Everyone else ranged between 70 to 90. Zack was at a concerning 120 bpm. He deeply hoped the radioman wasn't doing something stupid.

The last of the polymer dissolved and feeling came back into his leg. He stood and stomped out the last of the pins and needles sensation.

He dashed alongside the river, hoping to reach where it converged with the southwest river right before the Point.

He reached an area where it descended into a mossy ravine and skirted along the darkness of the natural overhang. Halfway to the end he spotted more flashlights. Someone was moving through the underbrush atop the adjacent side of the ravine.

Duncan reflexively retreated into a slight alcove in the incline and crouched behind the large boulder there. Increasing his audio sensitivity to 150% he could make out their voices. He could tell that it was a four-man patrol. The frequency with which he was running into them made it obvious that it would only get harder the closer he came to the finish line.

He would have to wait for them to pass. What he had to learn early on was that, ironically, the worst time to use the stealth armor was at night, a time that was probably chosen on purpose. The SPI's photoreactive panels relied on laminate plates that used light-bending technologies to refract light. However, in the absence of sunlight, the plates were more sensitive to direct light exposure on one portion of the exterior, such as the concentrated amount that came from the DIs' high-powered flashlights. If they so much as caught him with it, his SPI would refract the concentrated beams at odd angles like a straw in water. They would notice the odd refractions and set their weapon sites accordingly. The best he could do was keep his distance.

Duncan heard them move on. After peeking out to make sure he was clear, he slipped out of the alcove and carried on through the ravine.

He quietly blended between the bushes of the tree-line and the bank as he rounded a bend. Then he saw the point where the southern and southwest rivers converged into a single river heading further south to join what was called the Twin Forks River. There were two wooden bridges, one stretching over either river of the slanted, T-shaped water juncture. Beyond that were floodlights stationed atop the four guard towers that monitored the jungle surrounding El Morro Point.

Duncan studied their movements. They shifted across the entire area, occasionally checking the bridges and the area nearby.

He heard quick footsteps running over wooden planks.

Gunfire erupted, making Duncan instinctually retreat behind a nearby bush. He watched as two streams of heavy machine gun fire shot out from opposite banks to pepper the bridge crossing the southwestern river. The floodlights flashed to the location in time for him to see a semi-translucent figure reeling under the hail of TTR fire. The active camouflaging fell and the SPI wearer collapsed onto the bridge a second later, twitching at the swath of polymer rounds that caked them all over.

On TEAMBIO, Duncan saw Zack's heartbeat drop precipitously to 40 bpm. He was unconscious.

Two DIs walked out from the other side of the bridge and examined him. When they were sure he was down, they picked him up by his arms and legs and carried him back to the Point.

Duncan shook his head. He peered out at where the gunfire came from. Not spotting anything on the opposing bank of the southern river, he upped his visor's magnification and noticed a shape peeking out from the shadows of the trees. It was slowly rotating to the left, stopped then rotated right. He froze as he recognized it by its two long barrels and support gimbal. It was an M202 XP Machine Gun, an automated stationary turret with a high rate of fire. He was secretly thankful that Zack had triggered them first. Otherwise he might've made the same mistake.

Their infrared sensors had to have been maxed out on sensitivity. Deep Winter had taught them that the SPI was not completely undetectable to those kinds of scanners.

"Guess it's not that easy." He said under his breath. He mapped out the closest turret's cone of fire. Noting its range, he had two options. One, time it so that he crossed the southern river and got too close for it to shoot him. Two, cross the river further down and get the drop on it from behind. The first was faster yet more dangerous while the second was slower and safer. For the sake of time he chose the first.

He waited for the turret to turn away before dashing out. He slipped into the river and waded against the tides. He still had five meters left to go when the turret started swinging back towards him. He quickly dived beneath the waves, using his gauntleted hands to force holds in the stony bottom. The armor's weight kept him from floating up and the cold temperatures would hide his heat signature. He crawled forward across the riverbed while counting off the seconds in his head. At seven he reached the incline of the bank and leaped back up, breaking the surface.

The turret was already turned away. He bounded from the water, swiftly crossed over the bank and braced behind a tree several meters away. He carefully circumnavigated its thick hide until he saw the weapon. Though its back was exposed, he knew better than to rush it. The DIs would have thought this through. If one of Squad Epsilon had seen another teammate get gunned down by the two turrets then the natural next step would be to disable them, a logical conclusion that anyone could come to.

He scanned the ground. Near the base of the turret were three thin wires that stitched across the underbrush. He traced them to three distinctly hexagonal, metal cylinders barely noticeable above the grass: TTR claymores.

The claymores formed a triangular range around the gun that couldn't be crossed, not directly. Duncan spotted a sturdy branch of a Mahogany tree that loomed over the gun. He grabbed a rock the size of his fist and crept towards the mahogany tree, pulling himself onto the branch. He shimmied up its length to get within range.

The turret was right below. He took aim at the rectangular box between the twin barrels that contained its automated fire control, waited until it was perfectly still then threw the rock between his heartbeats.

The armor's strength enhancements gave his throw the extra boost it needed to pierce the housing and slam into the firing control. There was a whine of sparking machinery. The turret's rotation slowed to a halt and its lights winked out.

Duncan slowly shuffled back off the branch and leaped down to the ground. Now all that remained was the other gun.

No sooner did he direct his attention to the more distant turret farther down the southwestern river when he spotted a blur of movement followed by a flash of sparks. The second turret stopped a second later. He quickly realized that he wasn't the only one with the same idea.

He sprinted for the southwestern bridge. With his camouflage still engaged and the way clear, he quietly moved across the wooden planks, giving thanks that none of the floodlights turned his way.

Duncan reached the tree-line, ducking well below any lights combing the jungle.

The perimeter fence of El Morro Point came within sight. The front gate was wide open. He merely had to cross the threshold. He was about to make a run for it when he noticed the presence of the man standing about five meters from the gate. It was Mendez. He was simply standing there, arms folded across his chest and his attention set firmly on the entrance.

Duncan simply hoped he wouldn't shoot him. He waited for the last light to move somewhere else before he jogged the rest of the way. He stopped at the threshold where Mendez would've been able to see him if he were visible. But Duncan wondered if he actually was because the Senior Chief Petty Officer was staring right at him.

He stepped tentatively so that his footsteps wouldn't be noticed. Mendez just kept looking him right in the eyes to the point that he was an arm's length away from the man.

"You can drop the active camo now, son." Mendez said. "You crossed the finish line a while back."

Duncan flushed red with embarrassment. He deactivated his camo and stood at attention. "I apologize sir, I couldn't tell if you could see me or not."

"I saw both of you a way off." Mendez said. "You tend to recognize a shimmer a mile away when you've worked long enough in this line of work."

Both of you? Duncan was about to ask when he saw another SPI-wearer deactivate their camo on his left. The other figure shrugged. "Dang, I couldn't even try to sneak up on you, could I sir?" Deaks asked, laughing.

"Never had a chance, corporal." Mendez said drily. "And I'm guessing that little stunt you two pulled with our machine guns wasn't coordinated?"

"Sir, I didn't know Deaks was here at all." Duncan said respectfully.

"Same." Deaks added. "Guess great minds think alike."

Mendez looked them over with a scrutinizing gaze. At length he pointed to a nearby building further to their left. "Staff Sergeant Atell and PSC Matthews are already inside. You can lounge around until the rest of your squad gets here."

Duncan was even more surprised that the Staff was already here. He knew how Zack had made it over but not the Staff. Both him and Deaks gave the SCPO their "yessir" and made for the structure.

"You really think great minds think alike, Deaks?" Duncan asked snidely as they jogged up onto the outside patio.

"Not really." Deaks sighed, "All that happened is my great mind had to tell your small one what to do using telepathy."

"Huh?"

"You're welcome." Deaks grabbed the door and opened it for them. The two stepped into a lounge area. There were chairs and tables, several wall-mounted communication's displays and ceiling lights that bathed the room in white light. Two others were already inside.

The Staff sat with his helmet off, staring unamused at a half-conscious Zack who was slumped in a chair with his TTR-splattered armor, his eyes half-closed and a trail of spit running down his cheek.

They pulled off their helmets and the Staff gave them a knowing look. "At least you two made it in one piece."

Deaks took a nearby seat, scratching his head as he watched Zack slowly coming to. "What're we going to do with him?"

Zack's mouth twitched open, his words coming out garbled.

Deaks tapped him on the shoulder. "Take it easy bud, you took one too many TTRs back there. Just wait till the anesthesia wears off, okay?"

Zack gave a slow nod of his head.

Deaks took a small pepper shaker from a table and placed it on Zack's forehead. Zack blinked at him in confusion. He was about to say something else when Deaks put a reassuring hand back on his shoulder. "Take it easy." He proceeded to place another shaker on his forehead.

The radioman said something else garbled.

Again, Deaks rest a hand on his shoulder, although this time with a widening grin. "What'd I say, rest, doctor's orders."

Zack groaned worriedly but couldn't bring himself to form the right words as Deaks finished off his work by placing a fork atop the two shakers, forming a bridge.

"See, now when you cross a bridge, make sure you look both ways, like this." He pointed a finger left then right before cruising the digit across the fork. "See, just like crossing a road." He patted the radioman on the face.

Duncan stifled a laugh.

The Staff laughed a little as well.

Over the next ten minutes the rest of the squad came in, unscathed by TTR. Upon seeing Zack and hearing his story, they couldn't help chuckling at his expense. Once everyone was present, the SCPO stepped inside.

Epsilon, save for its seventh member, stood at attention. Mendez spotted Zack and raised an eyebrow but ignored him all the same. "The average time for Squad Epsilon is 15 minutes. Almost as good as the Beta Company trainees doing SPI integration with the LC."

"What's the Spartans' average?" Nova asked.

"Five minutes."

"I guess we're not Spartans then." Zack said, a little more lucid now.

"You can say that again." Hector huffed.

"I guess we're not Spartans then."

Hector side-eyed him and Zack grinned back. "Sorry, it's the anesthesia, I swear."

"All except one passed." Mendez said. "However, most of you passing will have to be good enough for now."

Deep Winter appeared next to the SCPO in all his icy glory as he braced on his cane. "In case anyone was wondering, your dormitory is ready for you. If we're done here…" He turned to Mendez who nodded back.

"Grab your gear and follow me, we're heading back to Curahee." Mendez said and headed for the doors.

"What poetry." Deep Winter chuckled before disappearing in a puff of snowflakes.

The ODSTs slipped their helmets back on. Since he still had trouble walking, Hector slung Zack's arm over his shoulder and helped him along as everyone left through the doors.

Lapides onychinos - Onyx


	34. Beta - Chapter 4 (Milites)

Chapter 4 - Milites

October 21st, 2544 (14:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

Zeta Doradus System, Onyx

Near Camp Curahee

:********:

Lieutenant Colonel Ambrose considered the happenings of the last two weeks in line with everything that was about to unfold.

Since their arrival on Onyx, Squad Epsilon had adapted quickly to life at Camp Curahee. The armor integration training for the first week was a success. He noticed a similar rate of proficiency development between the Beta Company candidates and the shock troopers.

He had gotten a decent feel for the personalities of all his Spartans in Beta, just like he had with Alpha. It was the same for these ODSTs.

Staff Sergeant Atell was the rational mind behind Epsilon, always maintaining his calm while organizing the squad's efforts against a clear objective despite the curveballs Mendez threw at them that he was so fond of using on the Spartans.

Specialist Novak, the team's engineer was an effective second-in-command for the Staff, often being a competent leader when the squad broke into teams of four to accomplish a given task.

Private Second-Class Matthews had all the characteristic hallmarks of a high-school dropout conscripted into the Marines, somewhat aloof at the worst of times yet able to get his head in the game when necessary.

PSC Paulson was at his best behind the wheel of a Warthog. Despite his generally laid-back disposition, his vehicular prowess was nothing to scoff at, possibly even comparable to that of Spartan B096.

Kurt, however, was somewhat concerned about PSC Mastovich. For an ODST with Air Force accreditations he was, for an ODST, strange. In an instant his uncaring demeanor could change into fierce antagonism and on every other occasion he had a near animalistic glint in his eyes. Maybe that was normal among the Helljumpers who were so often sent into the heat of battle. Maybe not.

PSC Corkeva was something of an artist when it came to explosives, yet his calm demeanor occasionally proved hyper-serious in response to his failures, leading Kurt to sense something of a perfectionist in the man.

Then there was Private Iris.

Although his file said he'd been an ODST for less than a year now, the fact remained that he had a growing track record for adaptability. He'd even had the tactical acuity to disable Mendez' M202s, the feat itself being only topped by the Staff Sergeant who'd figured out how to navigate through the trees to reach El Morro.

They were all impressive in their own ways. Yet there was one that Kurt kept a watchful eye on.

It was evident that the squad's sniper, Corporal Deaks had an eye for details. He seemed to be catching on a lot faster than Kurt wanted him to. The truth about the Spartans would have to be made clear to Epsilon sooner or later. But Kurt had decided to allow them to adapt to life on Onyx first. Keeping them away from Beta Company with their separate schedules was a duel-sided tact, both to train either parties and to give the ODSTs the time they needed to adjust before the curtains were finally pulled away.

Today, those curtains were about to be pulled and there was no way of putting them back up.

He stood alongside Mendez inside Curahee's command center watching the several dozen screens lining the trifold front-walls. The displays showed a myriad of different angles of the several combat simulation environments being used for today's exercises. The four firefight arenas around Camp Curahee were being utilized to test the Spartan IIIs' team-cohesion. Twelve individual teams were being tested, three at each arena. He felt certain which teams would do well, Lima at the mountainous Arena 1, Romeo at the canyon of Arena 2 and Xray at the jungle planes of Arena 4. But right now, the bulk of his attention and concern revolved around Arena 3.

The Urban Combat simulation arena was the remains of what Kurt believed to be an earlier attempt to colonize Onyx that was, for reasons unknown even to him, aborted and abandoned years before he first arrived here. It was north of Curahee, only a few kilometers shy of the area known as Zone 67 which made him occasionally wonder if the two locations were ever somehow related. Whether it was or not, it was the Spartans' preferred location. The lack of major land formations and the presence of a dozen buildings provided the highest variety of potential matches, making the city-block-sized locale the ideal space for a firefight.

Team Foxtrot was being tested first. Then it would be Team India's turn, and finally Zeta. Kurt had his attention on all three. They each had some of Beta Company's top performers. There were even several notable Cat 2s in the mix that he wanted to observe closely.

In addition, Epsilon was joining the twelve Drill Instructors already assigned there. This would be the ODSTs' first time coming into direct contact with the Beta Company candidates. He couldn't keep himself from secretly worrying, not for the Spartans but for the ODSTs.

On one screen he saw two of the SPI-armored troopers carrying a M247 General Purpose machine gun. They were lifting it towards a wall of sandbags that rimmed a bridge stretching between two buildings. Their IFF tags identified them as PSC Paulson and Corkeva. It was the way they carried the gun that triggered something within Kurt, a memory. He remembered how Shane and Robert had also carried Jane's limp body between them, fighting to escape from Elites across the smoldering surface of K7-49. His hands involuntarily balled into fists. He noticed and checked the action. That wouldn't happen, he thought. Not again, not with Beta Company.

"Sir?"

Kurt blinked and turned to Mendez who was standing off to his left, watching him with his naturally reserved demeanor.

"I'm fine." He replied.

He wasn't. There was something about the ODSTs' presence that had him on edge, although he couldn't tell exactly what.

Mendez looked at him a moment longer. Still he nodded and returned his attention to the screens. "Looks like Drill Instructor Madston and the Staff Sergeant are working things out on their end. All four perimeters are locked down pretty tight."

Kurt scrutinized the screens that displayed the four different bridges where two-man machine gun nests were setup above the streetways that passed underneath to form a roundabout. The roundabout itself encircled an oil refinery the size of a factory. It included semi-regenerative reforming pipelines, oil distillation units, diesel hydrotreating and sulfur recovery units. It was a dormant installation. That said, the mission mandated that it be treated as though it were active.

Team Foxtrot's objective was to reach the refinery and plant explosives on key infrastructure before their exfil. However, some twenty Curahee DIs stood in their way. It would be no simple task to say the least.

The DIs had established gun nests on the northern, southern, eastern and western bridges to guard the inroads to the refinery. A sniper pair manned the installation's rooftops. Five DIs were positioned within the surrounding buildings and another five secured the critical components within the refinery.

"Let's see how this plays out." Kurt said, eyeing the timer.

"Do you think he'll have a strong showing later?" Mendez asked.

"Who?"

Mendez looked at him. "ONI's prodigy. Didn't you see his armor details? They've practically already made the down-payment for him."

"I saw". Kurt sighed. He glanced back at the screen with an expectant glare. "Which is why I've put additional obstacles in place for that group. Not to show favoritism, but each team has had its objectives determined based on what prior examination criteria suggested they needed to improve on."

Mendez folded his arms across his chest. "Let's hope the ODSTs are just as ready for this as they are then."

Kurt nodded. "Let's hope so."

:********:

Duncan would've actually preferred being in an HEV plunging through the thermosphere than standing where he was now. At least it wouldn't be as boring. For the better part of half an hour all he'd done was hide behind a set of pipes in the refinery's primary storage chamber.

Since the start, he and Nova were posted behind the three filtration boilers each the size of a Scorpion battle tank at the back of the room. The Staff and Zack provided internal overwatch from the overhanging lattice of ceiling beams some ten meters above.

These three boilers were Foxtrot's objective. They would lie in wait to ambush them if they made it this far in.

"I think they're mind gaming us." Duncan said. "Shouldn't they have attacked by now?"

"Don't let down your guard, they still have ten minutes left." The Staff advised.

"Deaks says they still haven't spotted anything." Zack added. "His feed's showing all four streets clear."

Nova shrugged. "Maybe they're out getting lunch first so-":

"Hold on." Zack interrupted, perking up. "Hey…hey-hey check out Rico's feed. Looks like they're starting."

Duncan used his heads-up-display to quickly scroll through the helmet cams of the twenty DIs and stopped at Rico's.

The view of his squadmate's HUD showed him observing the western street with Hector at the machine gun. Both were watching a small firefight in the distance.

Duncan spotted them then, their SPI's active camouflaging making them specters against the noon-lit cityscape. He made out four humanoid shimmers sprinting down the street seventy meters away, headed for the refinery.

A pair of drill instructors targeted them from the windows of two adjacent buildings. The bursts of TTR fire splattered the concrete and painted the scenic civilian cars parked below. Yet the Spartans were fast, too fast for them to accurately track. They broke off into pairs and separated, sticking close to the sides of passing buildings while firing at the instructors with pin-point accuracy. Windows shattered at the return fire and the two DIs fell to well-placed headshots.

On the team roster their names were marked off with an 'X', labeling them 'out of action'.

Through Rico's camera, he saw a tracer from a sniper round miss a Spartan by centimeters.

The team of four pressed closer to the sides of the buildings leading up the western approach, using the structures' verandas to cover their movements.

A second sniper round rang out, splattering harmlessly off the top of a veranda. The Spartans carried on regardless, quickly closing the distance.

Duncan heard Deaks growl over comms.

While Hector started up the M247, Rico tried tracking the shimmers with his grenade launcher. He pulled the trigger, loosing a grenade.

It sailed over thirty meters and detonated beneath a truck, throwing it onto its side and showering the front of the nearby building with red polymer.

Except for hitting the glass windows of the ground-floor, it helped halt the Spartans' advance. Seeing the blast, the shimmers stopped and took up firing positions behind four support columns beneath the verandas, two on either side of the street.

Hector hammered their positions with the M247. He periodically switched between the two sides of the road to keep both binaries pinned. Duncan wondered if Hector was losing it with his tactics. The constantly predictable maneuvering would leave the Spartans not immediately being targeted with openings to take him out. Then he started figuring out what he was actually up to when he saw Rico paying attention where Hector wasn't. He'd switch with his squadmate to cover the opposite area in tandem. They were covering each other's blind spots while potentially convincing the Spartans that Hector was wide open. That way they might step out and give Rico an opening.

The tact paid off when two shimmers on the left broke cover and made a run for it. Although they were smart to move in different directions from each other, Rico wasn't keen on letting them get far, sending a grenade at the one sprinting towards the bridge.

The Spartan easily leaped away and out of the range but kept sprinting towards them.

Rico popped another round into his grenade launcher and fired again.

Instead of turning heel, however, the transparent Spartan grabbed the grenade out of the air and kept running. The camo-patterns reacted to the fizzling ordinance and turned a fiery orange, giving the super-soldier the image of a denizen of hell itself. And he was coming straight for them.

Rico gave a surprised grunt that stuck in his throat.

The flaming Spartan weaved beneath sprays of machine gun responses and ducked under sniper fire until he got within ten meters and vaulted the grenade back into the air. It hit the bridge at such an angle that it bounced past the lip, directly in front of Hector and Rico.

Duncan winced as the feed winked out. On the team roster, Hector and Rico were marked off with an 'X'.

Starting to get slightly worried, Duncan switched to Deaks' view. He found himself sighting through an SRS-99 at 10x optical zoom. The corporal was struggling to keep up with Foxtrot's serpentine maneuvers. When he thought he had one dead to rights they managed to leap to the side as if predicting his aim.

In following their movements his scope passed the western bridge where Duncan saw two limp forms lying prone, covered with polymer from the waist up.

The scope caught sight of a Spartan that had deactivated their camo. They were running with a backpack while firing their MA5K at the several DIs opening up on them from different levels of the refinery. On Duncan's HUD the software identified him as 'Min-B174'.

Deaks pulled the trigger. Again, the Spartan dodged. Min suddenly skidded to a stop right next to a sewer manhole and tossed the bag on top of it before rolling away. It detonated a second later, punching through the manhole, at the same time releasing an encompassing smoke cloud.

Min leaped inside followed by his nearest squadmate. The last two came running and gunning and disappeared into the smoke together.

When the haze finally dissipated, Deaks zoomed in to find nothing there except an open manhole.

"Not good." Zack sighed, having watched the same feed.

Duncan logged off the view feeling more alert. "Anybody knows where that leads?"

"In here." The Staff said. "You know what to do."

Duncan, Nova and Zack flashed their acknowledgement lights and crouched behind their positions.

While they were waiting, Duncan checked the feeds of two DIs inside the building. Instructors Nelson and Ackerman were guarding a hallway not far from the storage room. The emergency lights flickered red, indicating a security breach. Blaring horns came on that prompted them to sight through the crosshairs of their MA5Bs down the passage.

A minute passed where nothing happened.

Duncan almost missed it when an arm snaked around Nelson's neck from behind and pulled him into the shadows. His camera immediately winked off.

He checked Ackerman's view and found a similar blackout.

The two instructors were marked off simultaneously.

The ODST took a breath to ease the growing anxiety burning in his chest. He tensed when the chamber door burst open, courtesy of a breaching charge. He hooked his finger around the trigger of his carbine, held it close to his chest and listened.

Metal-footsteps moved across the room. He discerned the presence of at least two individuals. He checked the Staff's camera view.

The Staff was staring down at the two individuals on the ground floor that switched off their camo simultaneously.

The pair were a male and female, the former being taller than the latter. His HUD identified their IFF tags as 'Tom B292' and 'Lucy-B091' respectively.

The pair fanned out across the room, scanning the small labyrinth of crates and the far-wall for targets. As they moved for the boilers, they were unable to spot the Staff as he lined up his sites on Tom.

There was a loud BANG. The Staff's view shifted to the ceiling's adjacent side where the gratings on two vents were kicked out by armored boots. Another pair of uncamouflaged Spartans leaped out onto the crossbeams and opened fire on the Staff and Zack. The ODSTs stayed low while returning the favor, turning the area above the room into a small firefight.

Duncan peeked over at Nova two boilers down. She held up three-fingers and counted. At one, they both sprinted out from cover to ambush the two on the ground.

Nova was stopped halfway when a gauntleted elbow from the side struck her in the visor, flooring her instantly.

Duncan turned to see her struggling to wrestle her gun barrel out of the hands of 091. He was still confused as to when the Spartan had gotten there when TTRs shot past. He returned fire, spotting 292 just as he swiveled behind a crate.

At the same time the Staff and Zack were marked off the team roster. He could hardly believe it until he looked up and spotted their polymer covered bodies hanging from the crossbeams. Things were falling apart far faster than he'd expected.

He ran towards Nova while trading fire with 292 to keep him at a distance. There was no chance of holding him off in close quarters. Even with the SPI, the Spartans proved faster than them, markedly stronger even.

Halfway to Nova he felt a round strike his left-knee midstride. He reeled forward and grasped at the quickly numbing limb.

A shadow descended over him. He tried bringing his carbine to bare but an armored boot pinned his gun arm to the floor. A rifle muzzle stopped within a hair's breadth of his visor and his struggles died away. He followed the barrel of the weapon up to its sites where the golden visor of 292 unerringly stared back.

There was a gunshot. He looked out the corner of his eye at Nova. She was lying prone now, a single TTR splattered over her helmet.

She too was marked off the roster.

Lucy B-091 casually strolled over with her M6 still in hand. B174, Min, rappelled down from the ceiling using a rope and landed on the ground floor, walking towards them with a similar casualness.

"Waiting for something?" Lucy asked, pointing her sidearm at Duncan.

"Is the room secure?"

"As secure as it'll ever be, Adam's already on guard duty." Min said, nodding up at the ceiling. Duncan saw the shadow of the sole SPI-wearer left crouching on the ceiling beams, aiming his carbine at the open doorway. His IFF tag identified him as 'Adam-B004'.

Tom turned to Duncan. He traced a single finger around his visor to form the arc of a smile as he leveled his carbine at his chest. "Thanks for the easy win."

A three-round burst to the the gut left him gasping for air while his armor locked down, immobilizing him.

The Spartans moved on. He watched the three of them plant fake explosives onto the vulnerable boilers then set the timers.

"Alright, lets move." Tom said. At his order they made for the door. Adam rappelled down to join them. They regrouped at the threshold and departed, disappearing just as quickly as they had come.

The room was quiet again.

Unable to move, Duncan listened to the consecutive beeps from the charges. While they were going off, he decided to see who was left. More than half of the DI roster was wiped out. The comm-chatter was confused. He couldn't say anything because his own comms was locked down to simulate being 'dead'. Still he could make out the remaining DIs, Yuri and Deaks searching unsuccessfully for the Spartans.

A minute passed before the charges stopped, indicating zero.

A voice came on the intercom. "This is Lieutenant Commander Ambrose to all staff in Arena-3. The boilers are destroyed and the Spartans have successfully evac'd. Suck it up people, looks like this round goes to Foxtrot."

:********:

Arena-3's Commercial district was an array of a dozen buildings of varying heights and sizes that together formed a three-layered urban maze. Meant to simulate combat conditions in a trade zone, it was mostly offices and shopping centers with three dividing highways that ran east to west. The remaining streets ran north to south, dividing the area further.

A fifty-meter wall separated this training ground from the one they'd left. After being 'revived' with TTR batons, Epsilon and the other instructors transferred here to test the next group: Team India.

Duncan wasn't sure what to expect. The encounter with Foxtrot left him more than a little shaken. He wasn't certain if anybody else felt the same way since they had to get going so fast. However, Nova had been unusually quiet after her run-in with B091. He still wasn't certain how the Spartan had gotten so close so fast. Regardless there was no time to think on it too hard.

'Would speed be the determinant here?' That was the question on everyone's minds now as they patrolled their target buildings.

The goal here was to prevent the Spartans from escaping with a High Value Individual in a hostage rescue mission. Per the LC's instruction, India would choose between four target buildings to search for the hostage 'UNSC Officer'. However, in raiding the wrong building, the 'hostage' would be executed and the team would be immediately declared the losers of this match.

How exactly the Spartans were to find out which building held the hostage was completely left up to interpretation. It did seem off to say the least. Then again, these Beta Company candidates were more on the unpredictable side. The soreness in Duncan's ribs paid testament to that.

He remembered how B292 had stood over him with his rifle. He remembered his voice and that of the rest of his team. There was something about them that didn't sound right, as if they were all much younger than they appeared.

Sure, Epsilon had Zack who was an early bloomer. That said, something didn't sit right with him about it. He tried to ignore his own inward curiosities as he worked.

At 1500 hours, Duncan was manning the observation room containing the displays for all the security cameras stationed at key points around the district. The seat wasn't strong enough to hold his SPI so he had to stand as he checked the individual feeds. The streets were clear and quiet, just like the job itself. It was better than getting shot again at least.

He typed in different commands for some cameras to switch to infrared in checking for any unidentified heat signatures.

Still nothing.

It had been well over ten minutes since the round had started.

Still nothing.

He switched on his comms. "We're in the green, sir."

"Understood." The Staff replied. "Keep a close eye on Sector 9. You see anything there, even if its just a squirrel, you tell us."

"Will do."

Duncan checked one of the feeds from Sector 9. The display showed a five-story apartment complex within the district's southwestern corner. It was the one that held the real hostage while acting as a counter to the three other decoy buildings, structures they believed the Spartans would likely search first. They had planted TTR claymores in those structures and established posts in other buildings to muster a quick and decisive response against India upon first sighting.

Another feed later he was looking at a room on the fourth floor. It had an encompassing yet tinted window view overlooking the surrounding cityscape. Inside were three DIs armed with MA5Bs. One stood guard at the door, the other two around a chair where the 'hostage', a crash dummy clothed in a Navy officer's uniform, sat.

"Iris to Staff, HVI building is still secure."

"Copy. Check the exit gate."

Duncan shifted over to another display off to his right. It showed the trapezoidal passageway within the site's encompassing wall near the northeastern Sector 4: Team India's sole escape route. If they managed to flee through it with the hostage then it was all over.

He was about to report that it was clear when one of his cameras cut out without warning. "What?"

"Something wrong?" The Staff asked.

"Not sure." Duncan typed in a string of activation commands on his keyboard. Yet the feed refused to reactivate. Then just as quickly the camera observing Sector 4 winked out. He sent another activation command but met a similar response.

He tried switching to feeds from different cameras showing the same locations. All of the ones observing Sector 4 were already shut off, almost preemptively. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Cams in Sectors 1 and 4 just shut off. I think the system's compromised."

"Compromised?" The Staff asked with palpable concern.

"I…think someone else is in the system."

The Staff was saying something else when a dull whine caught his attention. Duncan glanced back at the individual monitors. His breath hitched in his throat. On almost a dozen feeds the cameras' individual power functions were suddenly accessed on-screen. The only problem was that the access prompt hadn't come from the security room, not from him.

He saw the cameras' deuterium battery reliance jump from 75% to 200% in two seconds flat, setting them up to overload. Duncan's eyes widened. He quickly began typing in commands to curtail the overload. "Staff, someone else is in the system. They're trying to fry our cameras in several sectors."

The Staff winked his acknowledgement light and switched to team comms. "Be advised, our security network's been compromised. Stay alert, something's coming."

Epsilon winked its acknowledgement lights while the Staff passed the message on to the Curahee DIs. All the while Duncan fought to hold back an elusive enemy.

For every camera he managed to save, three more would overload as the rapid overreliance on the deuterium batteries without the proper warm-up procedures caused them to ignite.

A distant explosion made him turn to the nearby window. Far off near the most northern of the three highways was Target Building 1 in Sector 1. Smoke billowed out from the building.

He used his HUD to get a view of Deaks' feed. The corporal was sighting down his scope at a blown open window when three more explosions went off in quick succession, blowing through the glass. Duncan noticed a spray of red polymer that smeared the shattered remains of other windows.

"Deaks to Staff, looks like our claymores in Building 1 just went off…all at once."

"Come again?"

"They're out sir, all four claymores by my count."

Duncan didn't even get the chance to consider it when another four explosions went off in the distance. Deaks zoomed out of his scope to reposition further right. He homed in on the smoke coming from several blown-out windows on Target Building 2 in Sector 5.

Duncan instantly connected the dots between his blacked out displays and the destroyed explosives. "Sir, I think the Spartans are setting off the claymores remotely."

"How? They're not connected to any networks."

"It's the cameras. They're overloading the deuterium batteries. If they do that, they can generate large EM waves that can filter through a building's infrastructure a moment before the cameras self-destruct. Those fields are setting off the claymores' laser-detection capabilities. Whoever's in the system figured out how to cook the cams exactly right. They're…a genius, sir. We'll have to-"

"Thanks for calling me a genius."

The voice was not the Staff's, nor anyone else' that he knew. It was a girl's, a teenager's. It had a middle eastern twang that oozed with confidence.

Duncan frantically checked his commlinks, only to find they were all inactive.

"I cut you off once you figured out what I was up to." The voice said. "I wouldn't bother trying to reconnect either. I've isolated your signal so only I can hear it. Now, how about a game."

He watched unnerved as a display winked on that he hadn't touched. It was the camera feed of the hostage room. The camera scanned across the room then zoomed in on the crash dummy. "Between you and me I'd rather not have to shoot anybody, not humans. Let's see if you can stop me, Mr. Tech-guy."

Duncan swallowed. From his downed comms to the hijacked camera systems he wasn't even sure where to start. How was she isolating his signals? Who was he dealing with in the first place?

He forced his focus onto the most pressing matter, the cameras.

On several displays he saw multiple DIs taking aim at Target Building 3 as their interior cameras exploded and set off the claymores, blowing out more windows and causing more DIs to focus on the center of the action.

But that wasn't where the true action would unfold. Duncan figured that much out when he saw the half a dozen feeds monitoring various hallways within Building 4, showing their battery percentages rising drastically. If they detonated, they would easily set off the claymores within, clearing a path straight to the hostage room.

He grabbed the keyboard and started typing in rapid-fire commands to halt the cameras' overload. Some responded far slower than others. Most refused outright. That wasn't a good sign. It meant his competitor, this likely Spartan, was implementing the inherent counter-intrusion software within the individual camera servers. They were literally using his own system against him. If it was the main server, he could simply stop it at its source. But using the individual cameras made it so that he had to conduct search and destroy on each intrusion software using the system-override code posted on his desk. He was a conventional force waging war against a guerilla fighter refusing to face him in open combat. In that way they were smarter. Now he was spending more time uploading overrides against each camera's rogue intrusion software only to have less time to keep the cams themselves from blowing up. It made him feel like he was having a hard time playing checkers while the other person was breezing through a round of chess.

Team India had to have been detonating the claymores in the other buildings to give the impression that that was where they were. Yet they weren't. That wouldn't stop the DIs from watching the entrances to those target buildings. It would ultimately leave them open to being blindsided, and he couldn't even tell them that at this rate.

At disabling the fourth camera he was blindsided himself. A rising firewall stopped him in his tracks, blocking his overrides. The notification that popped up branded his codes as a detected virus trying to gain entry.

"Ironic, right?" The mystery Spartan chuckled over comms. "You were so busy with the software that you didn't keep track of the hardware."

Duncan winced and swiveled to the central processing unit; a disc-shaped device attached to the wall in front of him. He finally noticed the blue light that was on. Then it clicked. They had gotten into the system by somehow forcing a connection. That alone suggested he was dealing with someone like himself, a cryptanalyst who wasn't an amateur to boot.

He thought back to the Falkirk's collection of SPI armor, remembering the single set with the TACPAD. That had to be it, the device they were using. The only thing that escaped him was the name attached to the armor.

Duncan tried the code again. Again, it rejected him as the cameras continued to overheat. The system suddenly threatened to lock him out unless he verified his identity.

"Just curious…what's your name?" The voice asked with intrigue.

Duncan felt the sweat beading off his face. Cryptanalytically speaking, she already had him in a chokehold. He gritted his teeth in frustration. "Who wants to know?"

"Ah." The voice said mockingly. "Turning the tables on me, are you? Think you're good enough to know? If you asked me, I'd say you're pretty bad at your job."

"You're not very humble yourself, are you?"

"I'll admit I'm not humble if you admit that you actually suck at this."

Duncan laughed while still searching for a way out. He reached for the CPU's power cord. Maybe if he amused her with conversation while rebooting the whole system, sure he would be temporarily blind but he could at least-

"Nah, not happening." The other said. "Nice try though."

The battery reliance on the remaining cameras of Building 4 suddenly spiked to 300% before their feeds blacked out.

The explosions in the distance came in quick succession followed by the sound of showering glass.

Duncan switched to the available camera views on Sector 9. The building there had several windows blown out.

His brow furrowed at the extent of his own failure.

She'd been toying with him. She could've blown the cameras the moment she gained access but she decided to test him first. He felt utterly humiliated. It really was just a game for this Spartan.

He switched to DI Rodriguez' feed right in time to see him and another instructor turn towards the door of the hostage room. The DI standing guard there was thrown clear as the door blew open a second later. Two flashbang grenades flew in, creating two small suns that temporarily blinded them.

Duncan was still able to make out the Spartan that came barreling inside. Their IFF tag instantly identified them as 'Gino-B307'. He sprinted past the discombobulated DIs, leaped and grabbed the hostage out of the chair before using his momentum to crash back-first through the nearby window.

Duncan switched to a feed in Sector 9 showing Gino falling four floors with the dummy. What he wasn't expecting was for the Spartan to land effortlessly on the hood of a Warthog waiting on the street below. The impact dented the hood slightly. Gino nodded to the driver, another Spartan whose tag ID'd him as 'Owen-B096'.

Gino clambered into the passenger seat with the hostage. Having recovered, the drill instructors rushed to the broken window to fire down on them. The Spartan on the turret, 'Samson-B041' leaned back to fire up at them, forcing them away from the edge.

Owen wheeled them around onto the road and they sped down the southernmost highway, headed west.

Halfway down the highway they were nearly T-boned by another Hog that came bursting down an intersection, grazing the enemy vehicle's rear. Hector was at the wheel.

The chase was on.

Duncan shifted to Yuri's point of view. The ODST skimmed the top of the lead vehicle with his turret while the Staff fired his carbine from the passenger seat, trying to hit the hostage. No matter what happened, if the hostage were killed then the match would be declared over instantly.

Samson swiveled his own turret around to return fire, dotting the rear Hog's windshield with polymer.

They turned onto a street headed for Sector 3. Owen suddenly swung right down a narrow alley, a near impossible feat. Hector turned hard right to follow, scraping the walls of the narrow passage that gave Yuri the chance to target their rear tires.

The Russian was almost sent flying when the Spartans' Hog broke hard, causing them to slam into its back. Owen started up again, giving Gino the opening to toss back a frag that Hector had the grave misfortune of having land right in his lap.

There was a deafeningly close blast and Yuri's camera signal cut out.

On the roster, Hector and Yuri were marked off.

Duncan checked in with a camera in Sector 3. He spotted the Staff limping towards the end of the alleyway. He fired around the corner at the escaping Warthog but his shots were too wide to hit.

The vehicle suddenly came to a stop in front of an office building.

A window on the second story flew apart as another Spartan leaped through. They stuck the dismount on the right side of the Hog and held on while Owen sped onwards to the northernmost highway.

The last Spartan of Team India looked back directly at Duncan's camera and waved, showing the TACPAD on their left arm. "Better luck next time new guy…or not." The voice from earlier said.

Duncan's HUD identified her IFF: 'Catherine-B320.'

The name on that armor set finally came back to him. He watched helplessly as Team India drove through Sector 1 and disappeared beyond the exit gate.

The Lieutenant Commander's voice came on the intercom shortly after. "This is Ambrose to DI personnel. Hostage Rescue simulation is complete. This match goes to India."

:********:

The Shipyards was the third and final section of Arena-3. It included three massive docking isles each large enough to hold a Stalwart-class frigate. Four 'L' shaped dockmaster buildings occupied the four corners of the kilometer square perimeter.

Here Team Zeta was about to be tested on its proficiency in the current systematic clearing operation. It was really just a nice way of saying annihilation training. In a war of extinction where true victory was measured in body counts, the ability to massacre an opponent completely and irreverently was a skillset to be valued. Duncan only wished he weren't about to be on the receiving end of that skillset.

This team Zeta seemed different from the others. It showed in the five additional drill instructors that were added to the facilitative personnel for this round. Moreover, four M202 XP machine guns were stationed around the yard. That was more than enough to convince Duncan and the rest of Epsilon that something was up.

They closely scanned the rooftops from behind the cover of their sandbag wall between the northeast dockmaster building and a nearby docking isle. The scores of crates around them, combined with the lift platforms and cranes surrounding the docking isle would provide decent cover against sniper fire. Meanwhile Epsilon's own sniper was posted on a nearby crane, acting as their guardian angel.

The sole exception to the squad's norm of vigilance proved to be Zack. Duncan watched him worriedly leaning against a sandbag while staring down the barrel of his own carbine.

"If we took ourselves out it wouldn't be a problem, right? I mean, hey, we still count as a kill if we're 'killed'. Does it really matter who pulled the trigger?"

The Staff didn't bother answering. At length, the radioman sighed and turned the muzzle away from his visor. "I'm just thinking if I'm going to get shot anyway, I might as well do it myself, ya 'know?"

"No." The Staff finally replied. "I don't. You're an orbital drop shock trooper. It's your duty to get killed by the Covenant if it comes down to it, not for you to do the job yourself."

"I'd kind of prefer Covies to this. I'm still sore from the refinery."

"Get it together trooper. The match starts in-"

A loud alarm blared across the entire space, signaling the start of the match. And if Duncan didn't know any better, he thought he'd heard a sniper round fire in tandem. He peeked over the sandbag wall to the crane twenty meters away where the corporal was stationed. "Deaks?"

"I heard it too." Deaks replied.

There was another shot.

Duncan ducked back behind cover and checked Deaks' POV. The corporal was bracing himself against the side of the railings lining the crane's rear counterweight.

On both their HUDs two DIs were marked off simultaneously.

"Crap." Deaks sighed. "Staff, looks like Marcozé and Geoffrey got hit. They were running overwatch on the two southern dockmasters. I'm thinking that's where the attack will come from."

"Prepare to engage." The Staff said while clicking the safety off his weapon. "If you see anything, take the shot or call it out."

"Yessir." Deaks said with a detectable anxiousness.

Duncan knew it didn't bode well if the squad's resident sociopath wasn't feeling comfortable about their chances. Still, that wouldn't stop them from fighting anyway. After all, a Helljumper that didn't think they were going to die on a given mission wasn't one that was thinking clearly.

Another shot rang out.

Deaks zoomed in on the northwestern dockmaster to their right where a fully exposed DI lay limp, his sniper cast aside.

The sound of an explosion immediately drew his scope away to the space between the northeast and southeast dockmasters. In the place of the M202 machine gun originally stationed there was a smoldering skeleton of burning machinery.

Deaks caught sight of a faint shimmer that sprinted out of view a moment later.

Gunfire erupted across the shipyard. On the comms, drill instructors called out targets, shouted for back-up or went silent. Deaks traced part of the commotion to the western esplanade. There a squad of five visible DIs fired from superior positions at an invisible enemy. Whoever they were shooting at proved more elusive. One by one they fell to bursts of fire that appeared to materialize out of thin air. There was a brief scuffle between two invisible figures that ended when one blew back into reality as their head was snapped back. The stricken instructor slid to a stop against a crate, unconscious.

The revelation dawned on Duncan that Team Zeta were covering for each other in binaries. One targeted the auto-turrets so the other could clear out DIs in that sector.

On the feed, a sniper round grazed the corporal's helmet. Deaks ducked and rushed back along the gantry before sliding to better cover behind the central control cabin.

"That shot came from the southwest." Deaks said. "Whoever they're guy is, he's good. He's taken out every other overwatch…except me."

"We'll need that sniper out of commission if we hope to stand a chance out here." The Staff replied.

Deaks winked his acknowledgement light. Bracing against the cab, he shuffled along to the corner, crouched and took cautious aim at the southwestern dockmaster building. The rooftop looked relatively clear, that is until he saw a muzzle flash. A second round zipped past his stomach, barely missing its mark. He squeezed off a round where he figured their head would be in reply.

The shot knocked out their active camouflage as the round glanced off a shoulder pauldron. The enemy sniper fired their SRS-99 a third time the cabin, barely missing Deaks' visor. Deaks ducked back while the Spartan dashed across the rooftop.

The corporal slid out to track him but failed to notice the arm sliding around his neck in time.

There were three suppressed shots. Deaks' camera view inverted as he collapsed onto the gantry.

Everyone quickly looked back to the corporal's position. He was lying unmoving with a very visible Spartan standing over him, the smoking barrel of a suppressed M6 in his right hand and in the left, one of Deaks' tooth necklaces. His IFF identified him: 'Jonah-B283'. Maybe sensing that he could be seen, Spartan B283 turned to look at the rest of Epsilon staring back at him far below. He slowly raised the hand with his sidearm. Instead of shooting he waved back at them.

They took aim.

"Take him out!" The Staff shouted. The squad opened up. Jonah proved faster. He ran down the gantry at full speed and dove headlong off the end. Managing to grab hold of the steel cable, he used his momentum to swing across open ground towards the nearest docking isle.

Duncan tried predicting his trajectory but was stopped short when his target activated his camo, causing him to disappear against the afternoon sky. Then the cable fell back while its invisible charge let go, likely descending into the isle.

There was a whistling noise. It was coming closer, becoming clearer to the ODSTs until they finally spotted the frag grenade headed straight for their position.

"Move!" The Staff ordered.

The troopers were quick to leap out over the wall of sandbags to escape as the grenade landed inside, bounced and detonated at waist level. A cascade of red polymer shot past, catching the nearby crates but missing the troopers.

A second explosion brought their collective attention to the north where the turret stationed there had just gone up in flames.

That meant trouble.

Duncan couldn't respond in time to the two flashbang grenades that sailed into the middle of the group. The two blasts of light were both blinding and deafening. He dropped his weapon and fell to his knees as his ears rang. He tried blinking away the stars that dappled his vision with little success. He forced himself to look up at the figure sprinting towards them.

It was a single shimmer.

Zack, Rico and Yuri succumbed to headshots before they could so much as raise their rifles. While those three were still reeling he witnessed Hector, for all his size, knocked clean off his feet by an invisible rifle-butt to the stomach. He crashed back down to the ground and took a three-round burst to the gut.

Nova and the Staff emerged from behind two crates to fire full auto on the area before them. But the rounds did little except splatter off the empty space.

A three-round burst caught either trooper in the back. The two of them collapsed like paper folding in on itself.

Duncan stood alone then. He hesitated as the shimmer turned on him. The Spartan slowly started walking towards him, not even bothering to avoid his line of sight. But if there was one thing Duncan wasn't about to do it was backdown in front of his squad. He steeled himself and pulled the trigger.

The shimmer easily sidestepped behind a crate then leaped on top of it to shoot his leg out from under him. He fell to his knees yet aimed his carbine one last time right as his opponent leaped from the crate. The camouflage dissipated and he saw the SPI-wearer some several meters above him, silhouetted as an angel of death against the afternoon sun.

The Spartan swung his carbine across Duncan's helmet, sending him flying several meters. He slid to a stop at the edge of a docking isle, leaving him dazed. He could tell that the Spartan would've killed him outright with that blow were he wearing lesser armor.

He watched helplessly while the Spartan approached him with weapon raised. Two more Spartans seemed to materialize to his left and right.

The one to his right had a backpack held over one arm while the other arm leisurely aimed a carbine at him. His IFF tag identified him as 'Harris-B170'.

The one on his left had a sniper rifle onehanded. He looked more alert yet also relaxed. His IFF tag appeared next to him: 'Roland-B210'.

Duncan looked at the Spartan that had taken out Epsilon singlehandedly. There was an air about him that he couldn't quite put his finger on. His IFF tag ID'd him. When it did it struck the Helljumper as odd. Unlike the others this one lacked a name, only the identification number. It was he number of the armor he'd seen back onboard the Falkirk, the one that the Commander told him he wasn't supposed to see:

'B312'.

Three rounds caught Duncan in the ribs. He winced at the all too familiar pain. On the roster his name was marked off. He was equally surprised that not only was he the last of his squad but also the last of…everyone.

The one who'd shot him had done so from their handhold on the edge of the docking isle. It was Spartan B283. He looked at the others who stared at him with felt disapproval.

"What?" Jonah shrugged. "He was fair game. You guys decided you wanted to gang up on him at the last second like some mob."

Roland sighed, shaking his head. "We were going to ask him a few questions. Now you ruined our chance to actually talk to him."

Jonah shrugged as he pulled himself up onto the esplanade. Then he did something Duncan hadn't expected: he thumbed his helmet-seal and pulled it off.

The Helljumper's eyes widened, so much so that they threatened the very limits of their sockets.

A cursory glance of Jonah showed a slight scar running diagonal across his nose, buzz-cut dark hair with lightening patterns etched across it. They zigzagged towards a pair of grayish-blue eyes that emanated with both cockiness and youthful vigor. Very youthful. Too youthful.

By his pale face alone Duncan could tell two things: that he'd already spent a long amount of time in his armor and that he was far too young to even be wearing it. Yet he was and firing a silenced sidearm with the precision of someone twice his age.

The Spartan couldn't have been much older than fourteen.

"Ah, I get it. You guys wanted to talk with him since he's one of the new faces around here." Jonah holstered his pistol and casually twirled Deaks' stolen tooth necklace around one finger. "Found this on one of them by the way, the sniper, don't have a clue why he was wearing it on his armor though. I took it while Roland was too busy getting shot."

"I told you I couldn't get a shot, J." Roland replied. "That last one was a bit smarter. He used the crane's higher elevation for a better view. I needed you on hand if things came down to it, and they did."

"Well, thinking out of the box didn't really do him much good, especially since I almost put him in one."

The third Spartan, Harris-B170 cleared his throat. "I know you're a bit on the mentally unbalanced end of the psych-spectrum but I doubt you'd actually break necks while the LC's watching."

"While the LC's watching." Jonah parroted in a sly tone. He rounded on Duncan and slowly crouched down next to him. He tapped his knuckles against his visor. "Hey guy, you still alive in there?" He pulled out a combat knife and held it against his neck seal. "If so, I can fix that for you. If you want me to finish you off, just don't say anything…"

The last Spartan, B312 stepped up, garnering Jonah's attention. "Leave him be."

Jonah glared back at him as he impatiently tapped his blade against his chin. "Why should I?"

"We're just here to put them down, not to put them under."

The helmetless Spartan smirked back at him. "You mean six feet under…right?"

B312 merely stared him down and he returned the look.

At length, Roland broke the deadlock by planting a hand on Jonah's shoulder. He shook his head at him. "Give it up, J. The LC's about to make the announcement. We'll head back to the gate and call it a day."

"…Fine." Jonah exhaled, getting back on his feet. He dropped the necklace on Duncan's lap. "Give that back to your pal for me."

The four Spartans of Team Zeta turned and walked off towards the gate. Their last victim watched them leave while leaving him with more questions than answers, the likes of which he was both afraid to ask and even more terrified to find out. But that couldn't stop him from asking himself the one at the very forefront of his mind: How old were these Spartans?

He barely heard the Lieutenant Commander's voice on the intercom over his own racing thoughts.

"Clearing operation is complete. The victory goes to Team Zeta."

Milites - Soldiers


	35. Beta - Chapter 5 (Compromisso)

Chapter 5 - Compromisso

December 17th, 2544 (04:00 Hours – Military Calendar)

Zeta Doradus System, Onyx

Camp Curahee

:********:

Acrid smoke from mufflers was dense around this time of year. During the holidays Chicago denizens were out preparing for the season. Only, the smoke Duncan smelt wasn't from a vehicle. Moreover, mufflers didn't sound like distant explosions.

He saw an apartment building far off. It was the same one he'd lived in with Erica for years, and it was on fire.

Smoke billowed up into the graying skies from a fiery gash in the side of an upper level. He could tell by the symmetry of the damage that it couldn't have been human ordinance.

He broke into a sprint, dashing along the sidewalk and forcing his way past crowds of onlookers. He arrived onto the apartment's street to find his way blocked. A dozen police officers had cordoned off the area for twice as many firefighters as they used truck-mounted hoses to spray watery jet-streams onto the flames. He could tell it wouldn't be enough to stop the inferno.

Duncan ran straight into the cordon, shirking off several officers to reach the ground floor lobby. He weaved through the faint outflow of evacuees, checking each face but finding none that he recognized. He found the stairwell and bounded up to his floor.

He barged through the exit door out into the hallway. Flames swelled over the ceiling and walls like a plague emanating from a doorway several doors down. It was his apartment.

Duncan shielded his face with his arms and ran to the doorway.

From the couch in the living room to the bed in the bedroom, everything was submerged beneath a sea of flames. A lone figure stood in the kitchen.

It was a Spartan in SPI armor. They were holding someone.

Duncan's eyes widened in recognition of the long blonde hair caked in dirt and blood running past emerald eyes too weak to open. Erica was limp, breathing but unmoving in his arms.

He froze as the armored titan walked across the burning room, passing him as though he wasn't there.

Duncan spotted something, the baby highchair in the kitchen. It was empty.

Something deep down told him that he already knew the answer to the question on his mind. He stared at the Spartan out the corner of his eyes. He swallowed, his dry mouth creaking open.

"…Noah?"

The Spartan stopped. He looked back over his shoulder at Duncan and said nothing.

:********:

Duncan awoke with a start.

He gasped for air to extinguish the fire in his lungs. After a few seconds he was breathing easy again. He wiped the cold sweat off his face and looked at his glossy hands.

The DI dormitory was quiet. Faint traces of morning light beamed through the windows lining the rectangular room. Instructors slept in the isles of bunks. The rest of the squad were also asleep in the bunks reserved for them near the back, everyone that is except the Staff.

He looked like he had already been up for some time. He was sitting on his bottom bunk staring idly out a window at the purpling skies. He glanced over at the pale-faced trooper, raising a brow.

Duncan quickly shook his head. "It's nothing, sir."

"That's the fifth time you've woken up like someone was trying to kill you in your sleep private." The Staff replied. "That's not nothing."

"I guess the service is just catching up with me." Duncan sighed.

The Staff didn't look convinced. Duncan didn't exactly want to say that for the past several weeks he'd been having the same nightmare. He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled again. "It's Erica…and Noah. I-, I guess I'm really worried about them. Even sleep doesn't help."

"Noah?" The Staff asked, seeming to catch on to the fact that he still wasn't telling him the whole truth. "You've been with us for almost a year now. Before this, you never seemed to have any more trouble sleeping than anyone else. Only after we came here…"

The Staff left the rest of the sentence unsaid. In doing so he hit the nail on the head and Duncan felt that he knew it too. It wasn't not seeing his family that bothered him most. It was at the back of his mind every day, becoming more pronounced every time he worked with the Spartans, something the squad had been doing a lot of in the last two months.

The ODSTs each found out at their own pace the ugly truth that was Beta Company's existence.

They were all preteens, teenagers, children, classifiable non-combatants, yet here they were being trained for war, and here the ODSTs were helping them.

Everyone dealt with it in their own way.

Deaks was the most well off. The reality on the ground didn't seem to bother him as much as it did any of the resident DIs.

Zack often joked about it with both the DIs and the Spartans in a thinly veiled attempt to cope.

For Duncan it was nightmares. They came to him ritualistically and always revolved around the same topic: Noah in that armor.

The idea terrified him to no end. Still, the fact remained that he was preparing someone else' children for war. A personal sense of fear didn't relieve the deep regret he kept restrained within himself while he worked. All the same it made him pay for his complicity in what, under the laws of all UEG and UNSC colonial charters, amounted to a war crime.

'Why are we doing this? Why are we even here? Maybe we should've just stayed back on the Trafalgar. Maybe we shouldn't have knocked out that ONI agent back on Miridem. Maybe we should've let all those people…oh God, I don't know, but this?'

He could have said any of those things to make it feel like he still had a conscience, and better yet, bring it to the attention of the man that had landed them here in the first place.

He didn't. "How much longer until April 25th?"

The Staff's attention fell on the inspection yard outside. Duncan thought he saw the squad-leader's already heavy eyes burdened further by the sight of the SCPO crossing over it to the dormitory. "Four months."

"Four months is too long." Zack yawned as he shifted in the overhead bunk, cuddling his pillow like a lover. "Someone make time go faster please."

Nova who was on the bunk below Duncan's creaked her eyes open, rolled the bedsheet back and threw her legs out to stretch. "Didn't Ambrose say something about another pod session today?"

"Yeah." Hector answered, rolling over to face them. "I bet Foxtrot isn't gonna take it easy. They've been looking for another go around since last week. I'm just not interested in getting blown up again."

Yuri kicked off his sheets and slid down from his top bunk to start getting ready. Deaks tossed a fresh shirt up to Rico who caught it and pulled it on.

The squad quietly slipped into their normal morning routine. Duncan was sure, however, that they're internal clocks were not all so precisely tuned. They were probably awake that whole time, listening in on their conversation.

They made small talk with the DIs as the room got ready. They were putting into place the last SPI armor components when Mendez walked in, prompting them to stand at attention.

"We're headed to the Pioneer for today's pod training. We're expected to link up with Ambrose and the Spartan IIIs at parade ground Julius in ten minutes. Any questions?"

Zack spoke up. "Are those ONI APs hanging with us this time too sir?"

"I'm guessing you don't like them, Matthews?"

"The opposite, sir." Zack laughed. "I think they don't like me."

There were a few short laughs among the DIs. Even Mendez smirked. "Any real questions?"

No one moved to ask any.

"Good, let's move."

On his word the gathering followed him outside. They headed down the quartz paths leading to parade ground Julius.

The five hundred square meter plain was already occupied by Beta Company. All three hundred Spartans stood in ten platoons of thirty, each facing towards a fleet of Pelicans diving through the dawning skies to pick them up.

Lieutenant Commander Ambrose, ever imposing, stood out front coordinating the loading process. Each platoon split up into halves of fifteen to occupy a given drop bay. As one squadron setoff the others holding overhead would descend to take whoever was left.

Duncan caught sight of the platoon to the far right waiting to be carried off. He recognized those he already knew well enough.

Team Zeta stood out the most simply because he'd had to contend with them for the last sixth of the year. He could tell the one sitting cross-legged as they etched out something in the grass with a combat knife was Jonah. Standing next to him with arms folded in apathy was Roland. The Spartan standing behind them with hands on his hips and head leaning back in nonchalance was Harris. The last one next to him stood at rigid attention with their focus set solely on the last two descending Pelicans. B312 or 'Six' as his teammates called him was seemingly one of Zeta's more disciplined elements next to Roland, with Harris and Jonah on the opposite end of that spectrum.

During his time here no one had exactly told him why 312 had his numerical name except for Jonah who, when asked, told him that his real name didn't matter because ONI said it didn't matter. He explained by counting his fingers: "Three plus one plus two is six. Trust me pal, when on a planet that technically doesn't exist working with people that technically don't exist, it doesn't get much simpler than that."

B312 didn't appear to mind the name. He seemed to accept it without any real problems save for when Jonah overused it to mock him every other minute. Harris was one to cheer on a fight while Roland was one to break them up before they started throwing fists. All four of them were Cat-2s so having a peacekeeper in their group was a necessity.

The four, like the other twenty-six standing in line with them sported black accents on their limb bracers and shoulder pauldrons. Together they formed Black Platoon. Nine others of thirty Spartans each mirrored the pattern of color-coded callsigns.

After the first phase spent testing the individual Spartan teams' cohesion, whose importance the LC regularly stressed, the new goal was to test the cohesion between the teams themselves. The purpose was to move the Spartans towards coordinating as a single, highly functional company.

Today's training was an offshoot of that overall objective. Ambrose briefed them during yesterday's staff meeting that the training would occur at Arena 4: The Agular jungle plains west of Curahee. The location was an open savanna four square kilometers in size with patches of jungle foliage for cover. A few trees guarded the slopes leading up to Curahee's sewage treatment plants at the top of the central hill. The first platoon would be dropped from the Pioneer while in slipspace. Using the LRSOIPs they would land on the Agular Plains and work to take the treatment plants while under fire from entrenched instructors. Once the first batch of Spartans took the plant, they would defend it against the next platoon coming half an hour later. It was using iron to sharpen iron as Ambrose put it. This way the DIs wouldn't get burned out fighting ten different waves of Spartans for five hours straight while the platoons tested and learned from each other's tactics, essentially becoming their own instructors.

Possessing the most experience using the LRSOIPs in action, Epsilon were each assigned to lead a platoon as acting 'Jumpmasters'. They would guide their given platoon through the slipspace drop and subsequent Exoatmospheric insertion. Once they hit the ground, or slightly before, the candidates were free to move on under the direction of their platoon leaders. Meanwhile the ODSTs would either advise or observe from distant watch towers already on site.

Duncan was unsure whether he really needed to tag along once on the ground. Roland, acting as Black-Actual, wasn't one to cause him much concern. Though he occasionally went off the cuff and did something unexpected, Roland-B210 did things mostly by the book. His level headedness made it easy for Duncan to work with him in coordinating their strategies whenever they were on a jump, and he always seemed to have a bird's eye view of the finer details of a given mission.

The bulk of his concerns fell on the rest of Zeta.

Harris-B170 was one for stealth and evasion. He could easily hide next to someone without camo and they wouldn't know he was there until he wanted them to or didn't. That same sneakiness made him an expert at long range reconnaissance patrols, matching the stealth capacities of Lucy-B091, his Foxtrot counterpart. It also contributed to his skills with planting explosives where no one thought possible. That said, his sneakiness made him avoid most combat, although it certainly wasn't out of wariness of the enemy but likely out of some terrifying desire to hunt his targets like prey. He rarely used up more than a single magazine on any given exercise. This was because whenever he fired, he always went out of his way to make sure it was a kill-shot. Duncan worried that his lack of effort on this mission might leave the platoon more vulnerable.

B312 or Six was also something of a hunter. The difference was he was constantly in the heat of the action. That was due to what Roland described as his 'Lone Wolf tendencies'. He often got ahead of his teammates and took down substantial forces of DIs that normally required an entire team to handle. If left to himself, he was easily a one-man army. But his skills were a double-edged sword. They made him less reliant on his team and more of a risk factor to the success of the operation. Though few, there were times when the instructors cornered and neutralized him. Yet there was something more to it. There was a detectable air of jealousy from some of the Spartans outside Zeta, as though they saw him like a parental favorite to the DIs, the SCPO and even the LC. Distrust and envy were never a good mix in a mission requiring teamwork, especially when considering how Six himself was more reserved and almost only interacted with Zeta.

Jonah was nearly the opposite, at least in personality. He would tell a person they were humanity's biggest mistake if he thought it would help cheer them up. It was mostly his own teammates that caught on to his hard-hitting 'humor'. Roland told him that if there was ever one Spartan here that should never have been given active camo, it would be him. He was more likely to go rogue with his active camo to do all manner of mischief behind the scenes. He was also more likely to play it close with seeing how far he could go to neutralize any given opponent while not killing them, although he hated the fact that he couldn't use his knife for more than CQC sparring with other Spartans. He was good at it too, scarily so, with Mendez even having made an off-handed remark once that he had a striking resemblance to A239, whoever that was. The only Spartan he couldn't seem to spar with and win was Six who prodigiously took him down with little problem. That was part of what contributed to the subtle rivalry that always pervaded between the two, though Duncan was certain there was probably some testosterone involved. Super soldiers or not, they were still teenagers, a fact he readily tried to ignore.

Duncan hadn't realized how little he'd been paying attention to where he was staring. Jonah was staring right back at him, cocking his head sideways in imitated curiosity. He then took his knife out of the ground and suggestively slid the edge around his neck-seal before pointing the tip at Duncan and tracing a smile across his own visor.

Duncan grabbed his helmet and pretended to twist his neck, then jabbed his finger back at Jonah. The Spartan's shoulders bounced in laughter. Jonah got up once the next dropship landed and the bay door opened. The last half of Black Platoon came aboard and the ramp came up behind them. The Pelican's thrusters whined to life then roared in their ascendance away from Curahee.

The last four Pelicans arrived for the DIs. Epsilon loaded up on the second one with a few others. Mendez joined them for the ride, sitting next to the Staff. The two exchanged knowing looks.

"Do you think Blue's going to try giving you a hard time this go-around, sir?" The Staff asked.

"Not a chance." Mendez said firmly. He took out a thick Sweet William from his pocket and lit up, exhaling out the smoke while keeping the cigar wedged in his teeth. "Just make sure to keep Red-Actual on a leash. Don't need him giving my boys and girls any more hell than they deserve."

"I'll make sure he doesn't." The Staff turned to Duncan. "Same goes for you and Black, Iris. Everyone else same thing."

Mendez eyed the ODSTs. "Try to keep them from getting too out of hand. For the most part they can manage themselves. That said, you should already know who the troublemakers are. Keep an eye out."

They replied in unison. "Yessir."

The SCPO focused on Duncan. He drew in another long inhale before breathing out the smoke from his nostrils like a dragon. "That goes double for you, private. You don't have to get shot. Just make sure Zeta doesn't get too innovative if you catch what I'm throwing, understood?"

Duncan straightened. "I'll keep an eye out sir."

Back outside, the Lieutenant Commander and an entourage of a few instructors nodded off to them before the ramp came up. The bay door sealed shut. Then they were off, headed through the reddening skies towards the ship waiting in orbit.

:********:

The UNSC Pioneer was an old Halberd-class destroyer from the assembly factories of Sinoviet Heavy Machinery. The nearly 500-meter-long ship had a history of working with Spartans, or so the LC had told them the first time the ODSTs came aboard. What exactly that history entailed was left up to their collective imagination. In more modern times the Pioneer was being used to transport the Beta Company candidates into slipspace for their scheduled drops.

Back in early October when the ship had finally arrived in system the ODSTs spent their second week on Onyx conducting slipspace drops alongside the assistant personnel from ONI Section III. The APs weren't half-bad. They were mostly Marines pulled from divisions of the Corps of Engineers after catching ONI's fancy, or so they said. Cooperation wasn't that hard either except for Zack who'd gotten into a fight with one of them over maintenance.

Training the Spartans came easily enough after that. They were quick learners that adapted unnaturally fast to whatever new information the ODSTs taught them about the pods. It made them even better performers of what they studied.

As of the moment, the Spartans were currently corralled within the ship's auditorium-sized armory on B-deck. The armory was a set of interconnected chambers whose walls were lined with various ordinance. From sidearms to heavy weaponry, each weapon type had its own specified chamber.

There was a ruckus inside the assault rifle chamber as dozens of Spartan IIIs from each of the platoons moved from rack to rack looking to satisfy their personal taste in ARs.

Duncan and Nova were stationed at the two exits to keep an eye on the gathering. However, Duncan found his attention often drawn to one of the several displays mounted to the walls. They showed different perspectives of the Pioneer's drop bay a few decks below. There the Spartans of Red Platoon were making final preparations for their insertion. They would be the first to hit the dirt on Onyx and were expected to set the tone for the rest of the day's operations. The Staff was already sending them to their pods when Nova comm'd in.

"Hey D, eyes up."

Duncan saw her pointing off to her left. He traced her gesture towards the space between the gun racks of the MA5Cs and 37s. There was a small gathering of three taking place there.

Catherine-B320, or 'Kat' as she was known among her fellow Spartans, was talking with her helmet off. She held it against her hip, the visibly Arabian features of her face all working in tandem to form an unimpressed smirk. Jonah and Roland, their helmets still on, didn't seem bothered by what she had to say.

"It's a wager then." Kat said. "If I nail you J, I get 40 credits. Role, you're worth…lets go with 50. Deal?"

Jonah shrugged. "I mean, if you think I'm worth that much then hey, I'm flattered." He pointed to the Grunt-tooth necklace wrapped around his arm. "And if I nail you, I can buy a few more of these. It's a hell of a bite out of my allowance but I think it'll be worth it. What do you think, Role?"

Roland looked between the two determined Spartans incredulously. "You're both dead-set on this aren't you?"

"Yeah." Kat admitted.

"Pretty much." Jonah quipped, then thought better of it as he turned to Kat. "Hey, how come Role's bounty is worth so much more than mine?"

"Three reasons." She held up three fingers and counted them off. "First, think of this as payback for yesterday's match. He shot me in the face. I'm getting him back. Second, he's your platoon leader. I knock him out and I'll put the rest of you off balance when you try to take our position. Third, because I want to."

"You saying you enjoy shooting me?" Roland asked.

Kat's smirk widened. "I hear you give the best reactions when you get hit in your not-so-happy place. I'd like to see that myself. At the end of the day winner takes all."

The two stared each other down for a long moment. Jonah, noticing the palpable tension between them, stepped in. "So, are we all set?"

After a second Roland answered. "Yeah, we're set."

"How about you look me in the eye and say that rather than hiding behind your visor?" Kat said with predatory intimidation.

Roland met her challenge by popping off his helmet, allowing his buzzcut crimson hair and pale, diamond jawline to show. He had a tentative scowl accompanied by light hazel eyes that beamed back at her with the same level of friction, then slowly melted into an equally determined smile. "It's a deal, Kat."

Kat smiled back and slapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck out there Red-Actual." She said in a sing-song voice as she headed off to join her own team. On the way she passed B312. The two nodded at each other with silent respect as they went past.

"Me and Harris are all set." Six said, hefting his MA37 across his shoulder. "Same goes for Echo and Lima. The rest of the platoon is still gearing up."

Roland scratched his head in thought. "Alright, we'll give them some more time. Black will need all hands-on deck if we're going to beat Gold."

"Speaking of which." Six gestured back at Kat who was speaking with Nova. "What was that about?"

Before Roland could speak up, Jonah butted in. "Yeah I think she likes him."

Roland rounded on him with a fresh scowl. "Shut it J."

Jonah held up his hands. "Hey-hey-hey don't shoot the messenger, alright. I'm just saying what I'm seeing. She's the one that said she 'wanted' to shoot you. If that doesn't mean she likes you then I don't know what does around here."

"Lock…that…down. I need you focused on the mission."

"I think you like her too but you're just trying to throw us off."

"J."

"Your kids will look good at least, though that'll probably come more from her side than yours."

"J."

Roland fixed him with a look that finally made him back off. "Alright, alright."

Roland breathed out, shaking his head at him. "What am I going to do with you."

"Make me the Godfather."

"Not happening. Like I told you, I'd trust an Elite with my kids before I trusted you with them, if I ever have any."

"Low blow, low blow." Harris said, having walked in on the conversation with his carbine on his back.

"Nah." Jonah shrugged. "That's a pretty fair assessment."

Roland finally noticed Duncan who'd been watching the entire exchange from the sidelines. He started over to him with the rest of Zeta following after. "Hey Instructor Iris, got a moment? I want to discuss our strategy with you."

"Have at it." Duncan replied.

Roland's next words were cut off when the Pioneer suddenly lurched forward, indicating a slipspace jump. The attention of everyone in the room turned to the displays. The cameras in the drop bay showed the hallways cleared and the two rows of drop of pods lining the exterior were ready to deploy.

After ten seconds the 30 pods rotated in their launch tubes to face the drop bay as the doors opened to the void.

The Staff came in over comms. "On my mark…three…two…mark!"

The lines of stealth pods blew out from their launch tubes and rocketed down into slipstream space like newly released polymer seeds in the wind. Their training kicked in and the Spartans of Red Platoon fell into a spiral formation behind the Staff.

"Enter transition sequence in three…two…GO!"

There was a flash of a pinpoint of light against the dark void, marking the Staff's exit. A string of bright flashes came right after as the Spartans left the alternate space for the real one. The moment they were all gone the Pioneer slipped back into the system.

The destroyer emerged just over Onyx' northeastern hemisphere. Immediately the displays switched, each splitting up into screens of six to capture the individual helmet feeds from all the Spartans. Their names appeared in the upper-right corners to show who was who.

Duncan kept a close watch on the Staff's. He was steering on down through the planet's western hemisphere. A look at his monitors showed the rest of Red Platoon falling into an arrowhead formation with him at the tip.

In less than a minute reentry flames flickered into being across their pods as they punctured the mesosphere. Like comets they speared through the stratosphere into the troposphere, bulleting through the predawn clouds.

At a minute to touchdown the area of Arena-4 came into view. The inclining savanna of the Agular Plains led upwards to the central hill. On top were what to Duncan looked like three bullseyes. The plants' three Clarifiers were a trio of large circular pools with multiple catwalks crisscrossing their diameter like garden lattices. Three large filtration tanks connected to them by pipes, one in the north, another in the south and the final one in the east. The location was hemmed in by a meter-tall wall running the full length of its circumference.

The closer they came the more Duncan could make out the more than two dozen dots moving across the plants. The garrison of DIs down below were taking up defensive positions at the surrounding wall.

"You're up Red-Actual." The Staff said.

"On it." Tom-B292 replied. Four Nav points appeared to the north, south, east and west of the hill. "Break up into your teams and man those approaches. Don't advance until the snipers are setup and I give the order."

Across the board the rest of the platoon winked their acknowledgement lights then proceeded to break off from the formation. Individual teams of four clustered together, bound for their established Nav points.

Drag chutes popped out on the pods, slowing them down. At fifty meters the breaking rockets reduced their speed further before they slammed into the ground. The multiple landings thundered across the surface of the Agular Plains as clouds of roiled earth erupted around the hill.

The Spartans blew the bolts on their doors and leaped out into an unrelenting hail of TTR fire.

From their defensive positions on the hill the DIs homed in on the individual pods, turning the open area into a firing range.

Spartans shot back from behind their pods. There was too much room for precision with standard weaponry, however, since there was still more than 100 meters of space left between them and the hill.

Tom's feed showed him peeking out from behind his pod to squeeze off several three-round bursts at the eastern face of the hill with his BR. The suppression fire allowed one of his teammates from Foxtrot, Adam-B004 to reposition behind the thick bark of a nearby rubber tree. Two other teammates, Lucy-B091 and Min-B174 covered him as well, the former from her pod which she'd wrestled onto its side. Response fire from a ratcheting machinegun put Tom and the others back in their place.

"Red-Actual to Red Platoon, hold your positions. Teams Oscar, Lima, Romeo and Sierra, are you in place?"

Several team-leaders checked in one after the other, confirming they were where they needed to be.

"Good, wait for my signal." Tom looked back at the eastern horizon. The clouds overhead were starting to thin out around the pink sky that gradually turned a bright orange near the world's edge. Tom kept watching it until the fiery orb of Zeta Doradus finally blipped over the horizon. Its light bathed the landscape in the first rays of morning. As expected, the light temporarily blinded the DIs who momentarily stopped firing to reduce their light sensitivities.

"Now, sniper teams take the shot!"

The sniper teams of the platoon squeezed their respective triggers all at the same time, creating what Duncan thought was what a thunderbolt sounded like if it landed within an inch of someone. From within the branches of trees, prone on the ground, behind pods and boulders the 16 snipers stationed around the hill struck at its defenders with unerring precision. On individual displays of more than a dozen sniper scopes showed a drill instructor toppling back after taking a high-powered TTR round to the head, stomach or shoulder. Right away the four concrete bunkers containing machinegun nests went quiet. The DIs left standing quickly ducked behind the wall, effectively bringing an end to the barrage. As it turned out, having more than half of the assault force arm themselves with SRS-99s was a good idea on B292's part.

"Looks like they're out for the count." Lucy remarked with some anticipation as she got on her feet.

"Not yet." Tom said and switched back to the platoon comms. "Teams Juliet, Kilo and Foxtrot advance. Snipers keep up the covering fire. We're almost done here."

The teams lit their green acknowledgements.

Tom nodded at his team. They switched on their camouflage and dashed out into the open. Other feeds showed teams Kilo and Juliet also sprinting across the savanna with their gunsights set on the northern and western hillsides respectively.

Halfway to their objective there was the sound of a loud thump, followed by another in quick succession. Something whistled through the air.

Duncan figured out what it was at the same time as Tom who stopped in his tracks and looked up. A tracer-projectile was arcing down towards Foxtrot.

"Scatter!"

The team broke off, running in different directions. The mortar round detonated in midair less than two meters above ground, painting the area where they'd been standing in red polymer.

Another round landed over the western approach taking out two members of Team Juliet who'd failed to evade in time. On the platoon's collective displays Clark-B275 and Adrien-B340 were marked off with an 'X'.

Foxtrot kept moving.

"Looks like they're not down and out just yet." Adam said.

"No kidding." Min huffed. "We don't have any 440s. My guess is Mendez probably left us another unwelcomed surprise at the top."

"Or a present." Lucy said with a hint of an idea forming in her mind. She looked back at Tom who seemed to catch on.

"Juliet-3 and 4, don't stay pinned." Tom said over comms. "Move up where you can. Kilo same goes for you. Let's see what they're packing upstairs."

Halfway to the hill the surviving instructors manning the walls peeked out from new positions to target the incoming teams. Oscar, Lima, Romeo and Sierra didn't let them get much done, however and either took out more DIs or forced the remainder to keep their heads down.

The Spartans broke up again at another mortar barrage then switched to serpentine maneuvers once a revitalized M247H inside a bunker began stuttering at them. They reached the base of the hill and slid to cover inside a small alcove.

Tom peeked over at the top to spot the bunker and eyed the 20 meters of open incline between them. "Oscar-1 and 2, second machine gun bunker, eastern approach."

Two sniper rounds zipped overhead. The gun immediately fell silent.

"Let's move."

Foxtrot clambered onto the incline and sprinted up its length, covering the lip of the topside with their targeting reticles. No more DIs showed up to challenge them. They vaulted over the concrete wall and landed on a catwalk.

A tactical examination of the situation showed somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 DIs moving from place to place between the individual sewage plants using the interconnecting catwalks. Some ducked behind the wall next to their downed compatriots while sniper fire shot overhead. Others were too busy setting up sandbag positions on the three main bridges to notice the translucent Spartans breaching their eastern flank.

Tom spotted the bunker a few meters to their left that had caused them trouble on their way in. He stepped over and slipped through the entrance.

The M247H inside was mounted to a tripod, granting it a good view of the plains through the wide window slit at the front. Two DIs lay on the floor with red polymer covering their visors. Tom yanked the weapon from its mount and hefted it outside. Telling his team to cover him he marched up onto the nearest bridge.

Two visible DIs were making their way down the opposite end of the bridge when they spotted the floating machine gun.

Tom gunned them down with 10-round bursts each.

Other instructors, now alert, turned to the shimmers advancing along the bridge. Foxtrot exchanged fire with the several closest targets, allowing Tom to concentrate on the hostiles at the other end.

The bridge converged with two others at a triangular platform built over the basin of Plant B. On it were two cylindrical mortars manned by a trio of instructors acting as artillerymen. Tom sprayed down two of the mortar crew before they could get their rifles up. The last got off two shots with his pistol that merely glanced off his shoulder. He finished him off with a 10-round burst.

"Mortars cleared, move up."

Foxtrot pressed on under fire. In doing so they kept the DIs from noticing Team Kilo leaping over the northern wall or Juliet-3 and 4 coming over the west. Both groups commandeered machineguns from silenced bunkers and began putting them to good use.

Sandbag positions fell in seconds as the instructors reeled under coordinated barrages from all directions. Several collapsed after failing to escape along the southern bridge.

The Spartans compressed the resistance into a pocket in the south. The last five-man team of DIs there made their final stand behind a sandbag wall. Three held back the Spartans with their carbines while two tossed primed mortar rounds at them. The combined assault put the attackers on the defensive as they retreated behind the three filtration tanks.

Tom edged around the eastern tank until he was just outside the DIs' effective range. He saw two other Spartans armed with machineguns slipping around the side of the western and northern tanks as well. He nodded to each in turn and waited until a close mortar blast went off. "Go!"

All three Spartans emerged to pour fire down the southern bridge. Their rounds pinged off the sandbag wall and caught two of the DIs in the chest, downing them instantly. The others ducked.

"Adam!" Tom called.

Adam burst from cover and ran past. He dashed down the bridge while they kept up the suppressing fire.

The Spartan leaped over the wall, rolled across the mortar-covered floor and came up with the barrel of his M90 already pointed at an instructor's chest. He fired point-blanc, blowing the target clear off his feet. With the two others flanking him on either side he gun-butted the one to his immediate right in the stomach then rolled over his bent back. He used the same DI for a human shield as he pumped another round into the chin of the second that couldn't get a clear shot on him. Adam swept the last one's legs out from under him and let him fall then finished him off with a blast to the visor.

"We're clear." He called out.

The Spartans came out and gathered at the central platform.

Tom pointed to the different bunkers around them. "We'll setup positions in the bunkers and have the sniper teams bring in our casualties. We've got twenty minutes till Blue Platoon gets here so let's get it done."

The Spartans got to work pulling the fallen DIs out of the way and setting up their own positions.

Back on the Pioneer, Duncan couldn't help marveling at them. It was almost eerie how capable they were in the field. Watching them every day never desensitized him to that fact.

"Sir?"

He remembered that he'd been talking to Roland before the match and gave him his full attention. "You're plan, right?"

"Yessir."

"Is it any good compared to that?"

"Better."

Compromisso – Compromise


	36. Beta - Chapter 6 (Moralis)

Chapter 6 - Moralis

December 17th, 2544 (06:30 Hours – Military Calendar)

Zeta Doradus System, Onyx

Camp Curahee

:********:

Three Pelicans arrived not long after. Red Platoon allowed the squads of unarmored DIs to disembark on the top of the hill and revive their armored counterparts with TTR batons. Once they could walk, the Spartans helped them into the dropships while ammo crates were dropped off to resupply the hill's new defenders. Thirty instructors departed for Curahee, leaving the platoon to manage its own affairs.

Minutes later Blue Platoon's pods burst through the clouds above and descended on the Agular Plains. They came under fire immediately upon landing. Red Platoon proved unrelenting, using their higher elevation and superior positions to dish out several different kinds of hell: mortars, sniper and machine gun fire that filled the intervening landscape.

The enemy platoon managed to reorganize, circumventing their sectors to rush into a four-sided pincer maneuver aimed at dissecting the hill from both the east and west. But by then they had already lost a sixth of their fighting force. Worse yet, the four-way pincer formations converging on them like the number '8' were obviously meant to split their attention. The only thing it did was condense it. The defenders brought their machineguns from bunkers not under attack to those that were. Mortar rounds started landing on the converging forces. Even their camo did them little good.

Five minutes after they'd landed the last Spartan of Blue Platoon fell to a three-round burst from Lucy's carbine as he crawled up the western slopes. The defenders lost no one in turn, making it a clear victory.

Hector, Blue Platoon's Jumpmaster, watched the situation unfold from a far-off observation tower alongside the Staff. Both had decided to keep their distance, and both simply shook their heads at the massacre.

Another Pelican squadron picked up the defeated in exchange of more ammo crates. As the dropships extracted their foes, Tom and the others reloaded in preparation for the next wave.

Then it was Green Platoon's turn.

This time the pods rained down in clusters. Blowing open their pods the Spartans leaped out, each armed with an M312 Grenade Launcher. With Mendez' advisory blessing, the Spartan IIIs launched smoke grenades on their own positions, keeping enemy snipers from pinpointing them.

On Tom's order the snipers switched to infrared in an attempt to spot their heat signatures. Yet the Greens had prepared for that as well by deploying flares amidst the white smoke, skewing their signatures by proxy.

What happened next was something reminiscent of a game of leapfrog. The Greens pushed up towards the hill by shooting smoke grenades to cover their advance, shifting from one cloud to the next with the Reds proving unable to track them with mortars or automatic fire.

Once they were close enough, the green-accented Spartans deployed smoke over the hillsides. Eventually the world beyond the perimeter wall was sealed off behind a vaporous barrier.

At Tom's orders the Spartans of Red Platoon fell back to the catwalks lining the interior of the sewage plants. They now found themselves crouching behind the very same sandbags that had done the instructors little good.

The silence was finally shattered as projectile grenades sailed through the haze from every direction. They bounced into Red Platoon's positions, wreaking havoc once they detonated. In less than a few seconds a third of their number had succumbed to blasts of polymer.

Thirty shimmers broke through the smoke like multilayered reflections of the same figure. The Greens resorted to shock and awe, hitting their enemies from all fronts. Fighting raged over the interconnected catwalks and platforms as both groups traded fire at long range. But the fog from the profuse amounts of smoke gradually rolled in with the morning breeze and overtook the hill. Long range fights became moot ventures. Close range encounters became the new norm as Spartans gunned down foes at arm's length, grappling and tackling each other above the stagnant waters.

Uniform grenade launches into the center of the treatment plants proved to be the most effective method for the Greens. More and more Reds fell to the explosions until they were whittled down to only a handful.

Tom dragged a paralyzed Min behind a filtration tank then prepared for a final stand with Lucy and Adam. They watched for any signs of a Green. It was nearly impossible to identify any of the shadows that moved within the artificial clouds. What was easy to identify was the grenade that bounced into their ranks.

Tom pushed Lucy away and leaped on top of it right before it detonated, throwing him a full meter into the air. He landed prone next to his teammate, 'dead' but successful in having saved them. Then a hailstorm of TTRs pierced through the smoke and Adam and Lucy were summarily cut down.

It was a defeat Team Foxtrot likely wasn't soon to forget, especially thanks to enduring the humiliation of needing to be carried to the exfil Pelicans a few minutes later.

Duncan watched the other platoons follow a similar fate. Yellow Platoon was able to knock out the Greens using well-coordinated hit and run tactics against the hill. Gray Platoon kicked out the Yellows by landing in overwhelming force at the base then using pure brute force to muscle their way to the top.

Orange repeated the pattern, only for White Platoon to break it by unexpectedly pulling off what the Reds had done earlier in the day. They batted away the Oranges then, in a work of unexpected genius by White-Actual, and perhaps a bit of advice from Deaks, decided to subsequently abandon their objective. They instead opted for taking up stealthed positions across the plains. After arriving on the ground, Silver platoon was lured in by the lack of any resistance from the hill. They made a move for it, allowing White to spring the trap by firing on them from hidden positions across the flatlands. They isolated the enemy Spartans into three distinct pockets. From there they had their cornered opponents shelled into defeat with coordinated mortar strikes, wiping out the whole platoon.

Yet Spartan B320 was not one to fall for the same trick twice.

Duncan surmised as much from watching her feed. The moment Nova gave her control over the rest of the descending Gold Platoon she began issuing orders. They were all to land in the same place: 200 meters south of the hill.

Then with little more than 30 seconds to hitting the ground she unexpectedly changed their landing coordinates, this time to the north of the hill. The fleet of pods were forced to veer north, coming within a few dozen meters of colliding with the treatment plant to land less than a hundred meters away.

It was a fake-out, Duncan knew. He could tell by the way the platoon assembled on the opposite sector that they'd initially planned for. It meant Kat had something up her sleeve.

The platoon was met with silence at their landing. On Gold-Actual's HUD, it showed her staying put inside her pod. She linked her TACPAD to an access port via a duel-link cord. On her heads-up display appeared the readouts from every LRSOIP currently on the ground. The hundreds of predecessor pods pockmarking the surface would make for good cover. However, she seemed to have something else in mind.

Another feed showed one of her Spartans, Samson-B041 stopping to knock on the side of her pod. "You almost done in there Kat?"

"Is the rocket team in place?" She asked back.

"Owen's working with Tango to get them ready."

"Everyone else?"

"Gino's already got them establishing a perimeter around your pod, 20-meter spread. They're holding until you give us the greenlight."

"Alright, one sec." Using her TACPAD she typed her way through several software terminals until she arrived at a communication's suite dedicated solely to the LRSOIPs' comm network. The pods were mostly online and giving regular system updates back to Curahee C&C. She hijacked a part of that signal and changed the communication frequency on nearly 30 pods to match that used by every SPI's TACMAP, the same one that linked them with the observation satellites providing real-time geographical updates. Then, after uploading an audio file, she pressed play.

Back on the Pioneer the displays' speakers blared with a kind of slam-bam drumbeat.

"Is that elevator music?" Jonah hissed.

"No." Harris noted. "Sounds like…"

"Flip music." Duncan finished the thought as he slowly caught on to what she was doing, shaking his head at how much operational freedom the Lieutenant Commander was willing to afford his Spartans on these exercises.

Gold Platoon's helmet feeds showed them standing unphased as they kept their eyes forward. Some checked their tactical maps. The topographic view of the area was distorted as lines marking elevation and distance shifted and fizzed out of any solid definition to the beat of heavy metal.

The same could be said for the Spartans of White Platoon. While nearly two thirds of them were already running across the plains towards the north, having been duped by Kat's earlier maneuver, the other third were stealthed around Gold's positions. Both groups found their tactical maps distorted beyond use.

This way they wouldn't know the enemy's exact location, or each other's.

Kat used the system to link her pad to it remotely then blew open her hatch and leaped out.

Spaced twenty meters around her pod were two rows of ten translucent Spartans each, the front line laying prone while the second crouched behind them, using their pods and trees for individual cover. The four elements of team Tango and Owen-B096 were standing in the rear armed with SPANKRs. Owen looked back at her. She nodded.

"On my mark." Owen began. "Three…two…mark."

Ten projectiles thumped from the SPANKRs. However, flying out in the place of rockets were non-flammable flares whose crimson luminescence washed over the landscape from the southwest all the way over to the southeast.

Active camouflage was at its best in daytime conditions when its user was relatively motionless and there was a moderate amount of light exposure. That last condition was compromised the moment the flares passed by the SPI-wearers lying in wait for Gold Platoon, the additional burst of light causing their systems to work overtime to blend in, creating something to the effect of multiple distorted refractions in the shape of human beings.

By the time the flares whistled past it was already too late for the Whites to take cover as patient gunsights locked onto them and opened fire. The northern plains quickly became the sight of a staccato firefight. Defending forces faltered under the rapid salvos of concentrated TTR from twice as many guns as theirs. No longer having the cover they needed, they fell one and two at a time. Within ten seconds the last rounds found their mark in the back of a white-accented straggler that had tried his hand at retreat.

"How many?" Kat asked, reloading her carbine.

Gino swept the scope of his sniper across the battlefield. "We nailed 10 by my count."

"And we didn't lose anyone ourselves." Samson proudly remarked, slapping a fresh magazine into his BR. "That's a good start."

"But we're not finished yet." Kat planted a NAV marker on the top of the hill. "Let's move before their reinforcements arrive."

The platoon winked their acknowledgement lights and sprinted for the hill, spreading out just in case. But no return fire came to meet them as they ascended the slopes and vaulted over the defensive wall.

The plant was relatively empty save for the three members of White Platoon manning the central platform, two at the mortars and one standing guard that quickly grew alarmed at seeing 30 shimmers surrounding her on all sides. All three succumbed to a red baptism before they got off a single shot.

"Secure all approaches." Kat ordered. "I want teams of two manning the bunkers. Papa-2 and 4, you're on mortar duty. Gino, you and Papa-1 and 3 setup an overwatch on those filtration tanks. Owen, I want you and Tango to split up between the east and west with those flares. Teams Victor and Golf, you're running patrols on the eastern and western sectors. White Platoon isn't likely to make a move on the hill since we've got the bigger guns now. We'll have to force their hand."

The Spartans got to work. As the machineguns in the bunkers were put under new management, Gino and the two other snipers clambered up ladders onto the top of the filtration tanks to get a better view of the area. B307's feed showed Teams Golf and Victor making their way down opposite sides of the hill. They carefully fanned out under the guardianship of the two bunkers stationed over those sides of the plants.

There was no action for several minutes while the two teams scoured the plains for the enemy, purposefully remaining visible to attract attention. Then all hell broke loose.

Victor and Golf suddenly found themselves the focus of a new firefight, this one coming from all directions. They quickly hunkered down behind pods left behind from previous matches and went on the defensive.

Gino, Papa-1 and Pape-3 traced the TTR tracers back to their origin and called out targets on both approaches.

Owen and team Tango fired flares over the areas where the two teams were pinned down, briefly illuminating the invisible ambushers. Mortars soared over to them, dispatching some of the unwary enemy Spartans before they could react. Most of the dozen survivors broke their assault to try and disperse. Samson coordinated the efforts of the machineguns in focusing on the stubborn holdouts laying down covering fire for their escaping comrades. Meanwhile Gino and his snipers picked off the ones that tried getting away.

The whole occasion went rather smoothly. Minutes after their arrival they had wiped out White Platoon, suffering only two casualties from Team Golf in exchange.

Duncan had to admit it was a great showing on Gold's part. As the Pelicans started arriving to pick up the massacred Spartans, he turned on Team Zeta and the rest of Black Platoon who'd been standing with him inside the Pioneer's drop bay. The group were too busy talking amongst themselves to watch the final results of the battle, possibly revising their strategy.

"We're up next." Duncan said. "Let's get a move on."

The Spartans silently nodded off to each other and scattered along the two levels of the bay. Duncan noted the way they strode confidently into their stealth pods. It was a good sign, likely meaning they weren't intimidated by Gold.

Duncan walked over to his pod and slipped inside. The door closed as he felt the jarring motion of the ship returning to slipspace for the tenth and final time.

The pods rotated to face each other. Ten seconds later the bay doors opened beneath them.

"Go!" Duncan said, disregarding any need for countdowns.

He rocketed out of his tube first and into the increasingly familiar dark of slipspace. Black Platoon trailed close behind.

They fell into the customary helical formation, keeping in place using tightly calculated rocket bursts.

At 30 seconds into the void Duncan gave the order. "Alright, we're bugging out. Hit the exit." He entered his transition sequence one-handed and pressed enter. His visor automatically polarized at the flash of light marking the exit transition.

The next moment he was staring down at the rapidly approaching western hemisphere of Onyx. It was nearing evening on this side of the planet.

Black Platoon exited slipspace in his wake. He quickly made sure everyone was accounted for then gave them their new orders. "Diamond Formation for 5 kilometers. Let's go."

They fell into place with practiced accuracy, using Duncan's pod as an origin point to form a diamond.

Jonah sighed over comms. "I feel like I'm getting cooked in here."

"It's more like a tanning booth honestly." Harris stated calmly.

"You've never even used a tanning booth before."

"Nah, but I figure it'd be something like this."

"Oh yeah? Okay freak."

"Says the guy that just learned how to sow teeth together into a necklace." Roland butted in.

"Hey-hey, don't knock it just cause you're jealous. If you want to learn how to do it you've got to go to instructor Deaks same as I did."

"Okay freak."

Duncan waited until they'd plunged into the stratosphere then spoke up. "Alright Roland, you've got the reigns."

"Solid copy." Roland replied and started issuing new orders. He repositioned the platoon according to the details he'd shared about their plan. Duncan decided early on that it wouldn't do them any harm to try something new and give them the experience of leading their own drop, that is as long as they were already outside the slipstream.

Roland set everyone into a new arrowhead formation, everyone except his own team.

Jonah, Six and Harris, the three most prone to going rogue broke away from the formation…on Roland's orders. The trio split off together, slowly disappearing from sight as they plunged through the atmosphere.

At 2 kilometers to the ground the Agular Plains became discernable beneath the thinning clouds.

Duncan kept track of everyone's trajectory. He reached sufficient altitude to deploy his drag-chute and watched the platoon do the same in quick succession. Their breaking rockets slowed them down right before they hit the surface.

Blowing his hatch, Duncan slid out behind his pod and looked around. Black Platoon's pods were landing in an oblong circle with Roland hitting the center like a bullseye.

Gunfire picked up the moment they were all out. Sniper rounds glanced off the side of Roland's pod, forcing him and everyone else to take cover.

Duncan checked the skies. There was no sign of the rest of Zeta to be found anywhere.

"Hey Irish, over here."

It was Zack. Duncan looked left and spotted the guard tower standing at the edge of the surrounding tree-line. The rest of Epsilon stood watching from its wide platform alongside Mendez and one of the ONI APs. They had stayed there after escorting their platoons to the ground.

Zack was waving at him. "You comin or not?"

"Not." Duncan replied. "I want to keep an eye on these guys. Watch my back for me so nobody shoots it will you?"

Zack gave him a thumbs up. Duncan returned the gesture. He sprinted over to a nearby tree for a better view of the situation.

There was a growing forest of stealth pods across the Agular Plains that was quickly outnumbering the number of resident trees like some invasive species.

Black Platoon traded fire with Gold from their northerly position. Over the course of the next ten minutes that was about all they did. No one made any moves to advance, only to spread out when the occasional mortar round came crashing down. Thanks to the empty pods there was ample room to maneuver. Even so, Roland ordered everyone to maintain their positions relative to where they'd landed.

At 11 minutes Duncan wondered if Gold Platoon had caught on to what was secretly unfolding in the background. If they had, they didn't seem to show it as was made clear by the undiminishing rate of TTR fire actively coming from the treatment plants. He checked in on the 'seeds' being planted out of sight to see if they were taking root.

Sure enough, Jonah's helmet feed showed him moving through a dark location. The numerous particles floating past suggested it was somewhere submerged. His helmet lights shone a path through what was a lengthy tunnel lined with handholds. Six was on his left and Harris on his right, either one climbing up the ladder-system built into the sewage pipe. A slight, artificial current was helping to pull them along.

With their suits' 20 minutes of air reserves they were able to move through the mirky water with ease.

The plan had been to have an insertion team split off from the main group so the former could use the sewer entrance 2 kilometers to the south, barely within the operational boundaries of the location. Meanwhile the main force of Black Platoon would keep Gold's attention fixed on them in the north.

Soon the exit came within sight. It was blocked off by a protective grating. Light shone through the surface of the water on the other side. Harris angled up from his ladder and let the current pull him onto the grating. He whipped out a blowtorch and got to work burning a circle through the metal.

The other two covered him until he'd cut through the last bars and kicked the grating loose. It floated away, allowing them to approach the edge.

The interior of Plant B's clarifier was less mirky but perhaps dark enough to keep their movements hidden. Shadows moved across the surface as Spartans from Gold made their rounds over the crisscrossing catwalks and bridges. There was, however, a second level of lower, grated platforms just on the surface.

All three Spartans moved independently, crawling up handholds along the interior walls of the clarifier like spiders over their webs.

Jonah was the first to breach the surface. He kept his weapon raised at the movement on the upper level as he quietly swam to the nearest platform.

All three pulled themselves onto the lower level, moving swiftly to their tasks. They shimmied up support poles until they were directly beneath several catwalks. Members of Gold regularly ran over to new positions to attack the enemy in the distance, none the wiser to the ones lurking right beneath them.

The trio planted Composition-7 charges loaded with polymer to the undersides of the walkways, doing the same to the three main bridges. They slipped back onto the lower platforms once the job was done and set their sights on targets of interest. In unison they held their detonators, not saying anything to each other since Roland had told them to stay radio silent. A reasonable proposition given the hacking skills of someone like Gold-Actual.

Jonah and Six thumbed their triggers in unison. The charges beeped then went off in bursts of red polymer that shot up through the gratings to smear the Spartans above. Golds fell in droves under the surprise attack and went limp under the overdose of explosive anesthetic. The smoke cleared away to reveal a third of their number had been instantly taken out of action.

Harris was the only one that didn't trigger his charges. He looked like he was waiting for something.

Six and Jonah got to work targeting the dazed Spartans with three-round bursts to the back. Six dropped the two manning the mortars on the central platform with a few well-placed headshots.

The machinegun and sniper fire focused on the bulk of Black Platoon abruptly stopped as the Golds were forced to face the growing chaos at their backs.

The distraction gave Roland the chance he needed to get a bead on the snipers that had been giving him hell since they first landed. He zoomed in on the moving shimmer on the western tank probably trying to get a shot on the insertion team and beat him to the draw. He quickly switched to the northern tank to dispatch the translucent sniper there as well, then scored a headshot on the one manning the eastern tank. Their camouflage dissipated under the kill shots.

He ran out from cover and sprinted forward. "Move up."

The rest of the platoon followed his lead, spreading out in a loose phalanx to give them room to serpentine maneuver once the bunkers opened up again. They shot back yet kept pressing forward.

Meanwhile, Six and Jonah moved up a stairwell onto the upper level, gunning down anyone and everyone in sight. On the opposite side of Plant B, a team of four Golds got into position on a platform to flank them. It was then that Harris thumbed his detonator, triggering the explosives directly beneath them. The blast threw the Spartans aside and they collapsed in heaps.

Gold's defenses were quickly falling apart.

That much became obvious as the rest of Black Platoon crested the hill. They went to work cutting down anyone left standing. Binaries cleared the bunkers by tossing frags into the doorways while other two-man teams swept the catwalks clear. An attempt to clear a northern bunker was foiled when Owen-B096 fired a flare through the entrance to blind the binary about to toss in a grenade, allowing Samson-B041 to finish them off with one of his own.

Six didn't let them enjoy the victory as he tossed a flashbang through the door, blinding them in return. He leaped past the threshold and swiveled around to put two in the visor of both Spartans. They slumped to the ground, 'dead'.

In the end there were three holdouts left using dismounted M247Hs to hold the central platform. One of them was Gold-Actual who fired defiantly at her encroaching defeat. The three shot ceaselessly in all directions and understandably so as the members of Black Platoon shot back. Still the intensity kept most of the platoon hunkered down for cover.

Roland slid behind the guardrails near the entrance to the northern bridge. "Whose got a shot?"

"I've got the one manning the west." Six replied.

"East is mine, I'm going for a ball shot." Jonah said.

"And I've got Kat." Roland said.

Jonah laughed under his breath. "That was never in doubt pal."

Roland ignored him and slipped a fresh magazine into his sniper. "On three…one…two…"

The Spartans sidestepped onto the bridges simultaneously, granting them a direct line of sight to their targets. Jonah and Six downed the other two with coordinated fire.

Roland squeezed off a shot at Kat but she unexpectedly dropped to a knee right before he fired, tipping her gun back so the upturned barrel caught the shot instead. She pulled out her M6 with her freehand while holding the larger weapon as cover with the other.

In a split second they had each other dead to rights. They fired.

Both flew back as a high-caliber TTR round and its magnum-equivalent scored headshots. They collapsed where they'd been standing, utterly paralyzed.

There was no movement for a while.

Then the Lieutenant Commander's voice came in over the local PA system. "That's it for today, Spartans. Black Platoon is taking home the victory for this final match. Pelican exfil will arrive in ten minutes." He paused then added. "Well done everyone."

Jonah walked over and crouched down beside his fallen leader. He took his helmet off for him. His friend stared back, half-conscious.

"Well old pal, you took each other out. You know what that means."

"We both call it even." Roland said, his voice raspy.

"Wrong. Since I'm the last man left standing in our wager, you guys both owe me 50 cred." He took Roland's limp right hand and shook it. "Nice doing business with you, Role."

Duncan lightly laughed as he turned off the feed. He would have to reserve his judgements for the final report on Black's performance today. He was still somewhat concerned however at the fact that Black-Actual seemed like he was trying to manage the three troublemakers of his team by sending them off on their own and making the most of it rather than incorporating them into the full unit. Sure, it worked out in the end. But would it work in real combat was the better question.

For now, at least he was relieved that everything turned out okay. Then his eyes grew heavy as he remembered there was something else that he needed to do before the day was out. He needed to speak with someone about what had been weighing on his mind for long enough.

He noticed Mendez and the others descending from the guard tower to head towards the hill for pick-up. He decided to go on ahead of them, hoping the walk across the plains would help him gather his thoughts.

:********:

Lieutenant Commander Ambrose' outer office was deathly quiet. Duncan noticed that much along with the relief he felt at having said his peace after months spent holding it in.

It was night outside. Not long after their return to Curahee, Duncan had quietly split off from the rest of Epsilon and headed for the C&C. He came across the LC and respectfully asked to speak with him about an important matter.

Now he was sitting at a seat in front of the latter's desk, waiting for his reply. The lone lamp on the desk cast long shadows across the LC's poker face. Slowly it changed to one bordering on concern. "You want to leave the program?"

Duncan swallowed, but nodded.

Kurt rubbed his chin in thought. "I would presume you've put some thought into this."

"I have." Duncan admitted. "Not just for myself, for the rest of my squad."

"Staff Sergeant Atell doesn't strike me as the sort to want to leave a job half finished."

"No sir, he's not. It's me. I-…I don't want to work here, sir." Duncan stopped to consider his next words carefully. "I can't bring myself to keep doing what I'm doing here, and I don't know how long the others can either. We're tough because we need to be. It doesn't mean we don't have a problem with it. Please understand sir, I'm not knocking the Spartans. They're…fine soldiers, all of them…"

"But the Spartans are the problem, aren't they?" Kurt asked, noting the way he was fading off in thought.

Duncan hesitated. He gave a tentative nod of his head, earning an exhale from the LC. The larger man sat back, folding his arms over his chest. "I knew something like this would eventually happen given the fact that unlike the other DIs, you and your squad were never given a real choice about the matter. You weren't really able to make peace with what you were about to do here well in advance. To be honest, I thought Matthews would be the one speak-up first."

"They'll never say it sir." Duncan admitted.

"I can imagine." Ambrose said. He stopped to eye the Greek urn depicting ancient wrestlers that stood in an alcove of the office, then the paperwork laid out on his desk: Beta Company's examination profiles. He took in a deep breath and sighed at length then refocused on the ODST. "I looked at your files; yours and your squad's. You have a family back home, a wife and child. Is that correct?"

Duncan froze in his seat. The LC had always struck him as an unusually unorthodox CO in the way that he engaged in casual conversation with anyone and everyone, from the DIs to the Spartans and even the ODSTs currently on loan to him. However, he'd mentioned his family in such a strange way, as if the idea itself were an unfamiliar concept to him. Worse yet, he wasn't sure whether he was implying a threat to his family, not that he gave off that impression. Still he couldn't bring himself to forget who he was working for.

"Why-…why do you ask sir?"

Ambrose fixed him with an honest look. "Because I'd rather that you got to see them again. The same goes for the rest of your squad."

To avoid any confusion, he went on. "Don't misinterpret what I'm saying. I don't threaten my subordinates or my comrades. That said, I need you to understand something."

"What would that be sir?"

"You know who you're working for, yes?"

"The Office of Naval Intelligence."

Ambrose nodded. "ONI is not one to give up on unpaid debts. You're expected to work here with the Spartans for another four months. However, I can understand your…reluctance to stay. Were it up to me, I would have allowed for you and your team to leave. In fact, I am. I'm no fan of forcing anyone to do anything against their own freewill, which is why the Spartan IIIs are so adamant to finish their training here. It's their own choice to do so. That said, I am not the rest of ONI. If I let you go, they will likely ship you off to some new project until your debt is paid." He leaned forward. "You and I both have a general idea of what that entails."

Duncan suppressed the urge to shiver. He did have a general idea. He only wished he had considered that before coming here. "Is there really no way to work around that sir?"

"If there was, I would have notified you." Ambrose leaned back in his chair. "I don't like that we have you here under the conditions that brought you. Truthfully, you were pressganged into our service."

For one reason or another, Duncan felt that he wasn't talking only to him when he said that last part. He seemed to momentarily lose himself in some distant thought, then came back. "Rest assured private, if you can finish your service here then you earn the right to leave this place with no strings attached. You'll be in the clear. That's your best option."

"It's our only option." Duncan said under his breath.

Perhaps sensing that he was starting to lose hope, Ambrose reached across the table and rest a hand on his shoulder, an easy feat given his size. "You have a choice, private. So does your team, and I imagine they're making it again and again every time they set foot outside. Can I expect you to do the same?"

The words brought up a memory in Duncan. He thought back to how the Staff had pulled him aside back aboard the Juno to ask him how he was reacting to the Molnar. He remembered learning how the rest of Epsilon handled situations like that, by harnessing it. But how could they handle something like this? Never before now could he have imagined himself being here, asking 'how' and not being able to find an answer.

Duncan closed his eyes and swallowed down the panging in his conscience. "…I'll do what I can sir."

"I know you will." Ambrose said.

The ODST got to his feet, saluted and thanked him for the meeting. He walked over to the door, opened it yet stopped at the threshold. The last question his beleaguered mind had to ask forced him to look back.

"They're children, sir, kids...just like mine. Why? Why them?"

Ambrose' gaze never wavered. He looked him straight on as he spoke calmly and straightforward. "Because their parents were killed and their homeworlds burned by the Covenant. Because they were left with nothing but ashes and wanted revenge. Because we asked them and they said yes."

Duncan felt a weight settle on his mind to in place of the old one. He took a shaky breath but shook his head in some sense of understanding at what had just been laid out to him.

He stepped out of the Commandant's personal residence and closed the door behind him.

:********:

The moment the door closed Kurt breathed out his inwardly held fears. He glanced around his office at the various pictures on the walls. They were all of Spartans, not the IIIs but those of his generation. The pictures showed them carrying wounded UNSC personnel off the battlefield, engaging with Covenant and defeating them overwhelmingly. Maybe it was nostalgia that made him put them up there. Still the fact remained that there were no pictures of his Spartan IIIs on the wall.

Though ONI hadn't officially announced the existence of his generation of Spartans as it was rumored to be planning to for some time, it couldn't stop the waves of rumors that swelled within the ranks of the UNSC whenever anyone encountered them.

Yet there were little if any rumors about the IIIs. Save for the handful of occasions where they worked alongside other forces, they took on missions that no one would ever hear about. With Alpha Company, they were expected to do the impossible to buy humanity more time. They did just that and paid an impossible price for it. And only those who trained them would ever be allowed to know what their names were. The same would probably be expected of Beta.

Kurt finally realized why he'd been so nervous about the ODSTs. The visit by private Iris had cleared his mind enough to see it for what it was.

The DIs were ONI personnel prepared well in advance for what they would both see and do here. The ODSTs weren't ONI. They were UNSC personnel fresh off the frontlines. They were the grunts, the regular enlisted that were fighting and dying in this war every day. They were the ones that John and the others were battling alongside in facing the Covenant, and he'd secretly hoped that his Spartans would be able to do the same.

Beta Company deserved just as much a chance to face the enemy on the frontlines as well, not to go out saving humanity with no one ever knowing about it.

He'd hoped that his Spartans' sacrifices would be known by all, that they would be remembered for their courage by more people than himself and a handful of others in Section III. Some part of him wished it could happen.

Then that idea came crashing down once he'd seen Iris' reaction. The ODST had been on the verge of breaking after finding out the truth, at least in part since he still didn't know about their augmentations but probably had a good guess about them. He almost seemed willing to tempt the fates with ONI and try his luck elsewhere. Thankfully, he chose not to. It still did nothing to take away from the fact that knowing who and what the Spartans truly were proved to be too much, even for a Helljumper.

Kurt's generation were old enough now for no one to be bothered by seeing their faces, though perhaps by their stories if they were ever told. But while Beta Company were soldiers, there was no escaping the fact that they were still teenagers. He had watched them grow up from the teary-eyed kids that had arrived on Onyx that first day into a company of lethal elements easily worth a full battalion of ODSTs. However, they could never be seen for what they really were. If regular people found out that the UNSC were training child soldiers then morale would plummet across what few forces they had left. And now he knew that that was a certainty, not just a warning that Ackerson had given him once when he walked out of a heated meeting with the Colonel.

That couldn't be allowed to happen. So, the Spartan IIIs would be a closely guarded secret, and for the sake of humanity's survival, he would do all within his power to ensure they stayed that way.

Moralis - Moral


	37. Beta - Chapter 7 (Seminibus)

Chapter 7 - Seminibus

March 23rd, 2545 (10:30 Hours – Military Calendar)

Zeta Doradus System, Onyx

Curahee C&C

:********:

Curahee Command and Control was abuzz with the activities of the thirty C&C personnel hard at work at their consular stations to oversee the day's current exercise. Their displays showed feeds from local satellites monitoring the space over the western hemisphere of Onyx' moon. Particular focus was paid to an area near the dark side, Mare Griseo, and the small installation there.

The Spartans were expected to begin their assault fairly soon. He'd been waiting for their reentry to normal space when Deep Winter informed him of a call for him, and from none other than the Colonel. There was no way around the man's tendency to drop in unscheduled to get a progress report.

Kurt made his way up to the logistics room on the second floor, a pentagonal chamber with bulletproof glass walls, a rectangular meeting table with several chairs and a single forward display mounted to the front wall. The display was inactive up until the moment he stepped through the sliding doors. Then the screen turned on, showing the Colonel in his office, dressed in his usual army officer's uniform. Not much had changed since their last meeting; he was still balding. However, as Kurt settled on the opposite side of the table, he noticed a few new silvering hairs on his head.

He stood at attention. "Colonel Ackerson, sir, you wished to speak with me?"

"Yes." Ackerson said simply. "The brass at Section III are growing antsy in relation to our problem near the Perseus Arm."

"You mean the 51 Pegasi System, sir?"

"Indeed. It goes without saying that the upcoming Operation TORPEDO is pressing. To keep a long story short, I need an update on the progress of the IIIs with the LRSOIPs. My question is how many months are we looking at exactly?"

Kurt stiffened at the mention of 'TORPEDO' but did his best to hide his reaction. "We're still looking at April for Beta's graduation date. Even with the recent help of Detachment 731, we won't be able to cover all the necessary training prerequisites by the late March deadline you requested earlier."

Ackerson didn't look pleased as he considered the information. "Is there some way to 'circumvent' aspects of the curriculum?"

"Not possible sir. What their training regimes incorporate now will be vital to the success of TORPEDO."

The Colonel gave a slow, reluctant nod. "I see. And have you gotten any new Cat-2 recommendations for the Headhunter Program? Last I checked, Naval Special Warfare Command only has three squads and a total of twelve on rotation, all from Alpha Company."

Kurt felt some relief at the switch in topic. The previous operation was something he would rather not think about. "Yessir, we've decided on more than half-a-dozen recommendations that more than exceed the acceptance criteria. The ones we're certain about include Samson-B041, Roland-B210, Jonah-B283 and Gino-B307. B170, B091, B275 and B340 are also currently in consideration. If you would like, Deep Winter can send you their files for your personal evaluation."

"Send them. I want to see what Beta's made of." He paused, looking briefly lost in thought. "And what of B312?"

"B312 and several others are still reserved to their previous arrangements outside Beta-5, sir."

Ackerson sighed in acceptance of a seemingly undesirable fact. "…I see. What's Beta's present status?"

"They're currently on the outer edges of the system preparing for today's exercise."

"Can I get a look? I'm tired of only ever seeing recordings."

"Of course, Colonel. In fact," Kurt looked out past the glass walls to see a growing commotion on the ground floor. There, C&C personnel were typing furiously on their consoles to reposition the satellite cameras. "You may not have to wait too long."

:********:

To Duncan, Mare Griseo was nothing but a barren moonscape of larger sized craters from interstellar collisions, small divots that looked more like indents left on a crowded beach and endless expanses of flat nothingness. To Zack it was like being back home. He said as much every time they came here, jumping ecstatically around the flatlands in his SPI as he tested the limits of the safety tether keeping him connected to the Arintero listening station.

The station was situated at the base of a small ridge overlooking an inlet between the lighter regions of Mare Griseo and another region of darker sediment, a splotch-shaped bay called Sinus Luventatis. Arintero lay at its northernmost inlet in the moon's less icy Mideastern hemisphere.

Between the ridge and the inlet was a kilometer of open space, of which the Arintero occupied a tenth with its three communication pylons, each ten meters tall. Connective pipelines containing human-sized electrical wiring connected them to the multi-platformed structure located exactly 100 meters to their center.

The Arintero served as the partial objective of today's training. An insertion team was expected to infiltrate the moon and takedown the listening station before the Pioneer dropped off the main contingent of Beta Company onto the surface of Onyx. The goal was to simulate a scenario where the stealth coating of the LRSOIPs wasn't sufficient to keep them hidden from a Covenant sensor station, making it necessary to handle the lunar or asteroidean outpost first to blind the groundside enemy to the follow-up invasion.

It was all part of what the Lieutenant Commander termed the final stage of stealth insertion training. Since early February, the focus of every Exoatmospheric drop session was to transition Beta Company to its final metamorphosis: Company-wide cohesion. From binaries to fireteams to platoons, they had been developing towards this final phase of operating as a single unit of 300 strong, an idea whose realization Duncan found terrifying for anyone that had to actually fight them.

This exercise was a part of the final three-step examination phases; the 'Moon' phase. They had successfully passed the first part three days earlier during the aquatic landing trainings off the coast of Onyx' northern peninsula. The third, elevated terrain training, was expected to take place in another three days at the Hexodé mountain range twenty kilometers south of Curahee. After their 'swim' during the first examination the Spartans had been sent to Mare Griseo to train in zero-gravity conditions. While it certainly wasn't their first time as demonstrated by their use of T-Packs to make ultra-precise maneuvers, it was however the ODSTs' first spacewalk.

Today, their purpose here was to act as lifeguards. They would watch the Spartans carefully, provide extra oxygen if needed and tether polymer-paralyzed individuals to the station.

The job of actually facing the Spartans fell instead to personnel of Detachment 731. They were a supplementary group from the 340th ODST Combat Training Unit known as the 'Adversaries'. Duncan remembered fighting the 340th back at Ravenport during Final Selection. The only difference was that these troopers were consistently requisitioned by ONI for various projects, or so the members he'd spoken with had told him. Even Curahee's resident DIs, some of them being washouts from the previous Alpha Company had told him how the Adversaries helped train them years ago.

A platoon of 40 ODSTs were present on Mare Griseo. Eight were stationed at hidden positions on each pylon, using their large docking components and observation platforms to give them the best chance against the Spartans. The last 16 were back at the main station. They were all equipped with SPI armor courtesy of the newly installed Curahee Special Assembly Plant, a recently constructed armor production site that eliminated any future need for interstellar deliveries.

Duncan sat in his own SPI against the side of the pipeline running between the southeastern pylon and the command center. The moonscape's soft sediment comfortably molded to his form. He regularly checked on the pylon less than ten meters away to see if anything had started. So far, nothing had. The same could be said for the southwestern and northern pylons.

His attention drifted over his shoulder at the nightmarish sight coming from the east.

On any given planet, nighttime came gently due to the presence of an atmosphere. However, there was no such atmosphere on this moon. As a result, night appeared as a monolithic wall of creeping darkness that slowly swallowed up the surface. It was almost 11:00 Hours back at Curahee but the estrangement in terms of time was due to Arintero's position within a separate time-zone relative theirs. Since a part of the natural satellite was constantly dark, the night was always present and always advancing.

Duncan felt that the Spartans should have arrived by now. Maybe they were waiting for night to descend on the station in the next half an hour. His personal oxygen-meter on his HUD showed another 10-minutes before he would have to use his 3-minute reserves while he changed out his main air-tanks. He hoped they showed up before then.

Movement on his periphery caught his attention. He looked up to see Zack in front of him. He was moving backwards, sliding one foot behind the other until he stopped right next to Duncan to give him the thumbs up.

"Should I even ask?"

"It's an old dance move that used to be popular back on Earth." Zack said. "I saw it in a documentary once, thought this was the perfect place to try it out."

Duncan stared at him incredulously, eventually earning a shrug from Zack. "It's not like there's anything else to do around her-"

The shot had no sound. That didn't stop them both from seeing the tracer flash across space.

They quickly refocused on the nearby pylon. There a lone SPI-armored ODST floated free from where he'd been hiding on a platform with a TTR round coating the side of his helmet.

Both troopers instinctively kneeled down to avoid being mistaken for targets, even though the two oxygen tanks on their backs would've made their non-combatant status obvious.

Duncan used his HUD to switch to establish a link with Spartan's feeds. Scrolling through each of them showed that 12 Spartans were in the neighborhood. Some were bounding cautiously across the moonscape. Others used their T-packs to fly across the expanse. Their attention was uniformly set on the pylons.

He counted around 10 of the insertion team actively on the move. Two of them, Roland and Gino, were lying prone while sighting down their sniper scopes at more targets. He could tell from their elevation that they were on the ridge half a kilometer away, a landform currently submerged beneath the blanket of night. It was good cover and had probably hid their initial landing past the ridge.

Both snipers provided covering fire for the rest of Teams Foxtrot, India and Zeta currently approaching the Northern, Southwestern and Southeastern Pylons respectively.

Nearby, another ODST was sent spiraling past the guardrails of his platform after taking a round to the shoulder. A quick look at another trooper's feed showed two shimmers firing at them with the help of systemized thruster bursts from their T-packs to counterbalance the momentum generated by the shooting. The ODSTs emerged from their hiding places to fire back at the assault.

Duncan was surprised that the Spartans had gotten this close without being spotted. Even with active camo, the weaker lunar gravity would have caused more sediment to pour up from the ground with their footsteps or at least show their boot imprints. Yet by the way dust flew freely off Jonah and Six' arm and leg bracers he could piece together that they had actually crawled their way here, over half a kilometer of open ground.

He switched between their feeds.

Six and Jonah both activated their packs in sync to fly 15 meters off the ground, firing at the six remaining instructors as they began arcing down towards different platforms. Both had each caught another trooper with three-round bursts by the time they landed.

Six hadn't even hit the guardrails when two troopers emerged from behind a cylindrical component. The brawniest one put on a burst from his pack to slam into Six before he could react and immobilized him in a bear-hug. The ensuing, backwards freefall caused them both to hurdle towards the ground while the second lined up his BR for a shot.

For all his strength, the trooper struggled to keep the Spartan still, often losing his grip as he tried to turn him around. It became obvious he was trying to turn the Spartan's vulnerable back towards his friend on the platform for him to take the shot. Halfway to the ground Six grabbed the trooper tightly with one arm and used a controlled thruster burst to rotate him into the line of fire. The ODST caught a three-round burst to the back for his trouble. Six held onto the limp body like a shield while he fired his carbine with the other hand, catching the last one in the chest with half a magazine. With both attackers down he launched off the burly one back towards the pylon.

Jonah meanwhile was having his own fun on a lower platform where two troopers had pressed him into close quarters. One charged at him and earned several debilitating punches to the side topped off with two three-round bursts for his trouble. Jonah rounded on the last trooper. The man fired on him but he ducked beneath the shots, cast aside his SMG and shot forward with his pack. In one fluid motion, he unsheathed his combat knife and slashed it across the man's neck in a wide arc.

Duncan winced at the explosion of, not blood, but air that poured out. The Spartan had struck his target so precisely that he only breached the neck seal, not even touching the skin beneath.

Pressurized air gushed out, causing the trooper to shift around like a ragdoll in the hands of a child. He was panicking over comms.

"Relax." Jonah said as he raised his boot over the man's chest and slammed him back down to the floor. The trooper kept panicking, clasping at the air spewing out from the breached neck-seal. Jonah leaned forward to inspect his handiwork. "I told you to stop panicking. It's an easy fix alright? See?" He whipped out his silenced M6 and squeezed off three shots.

While the impacts undoubtedly stung like hell, the red polymer adhered to the breaches in the seal and closed them. Thanks to his doing the trooper would survive, albeit in a state of unconscious paralysis. "See, that's better right?"

Six floated down to his platform. He spotted the trooper beneath his teammate's boot. "I hope you can explain that to the LC."

"It's called quick thinking."

"More like no thinking." Roland chimed in. "Get that charge planted, J. Everyone else has already secured theirs."

"Yeah-yeah, one sec." Jonah pulled out an M168 Demolition Charge from his rucksack and planted its adhesive underside to the pylon. He twisted the priming handle 90 degrees clockwise, causing the indicative lights to shift from an active green to a pulsating red. "Alright, we're all set."

"Good. You two get moving. Tom wants everyone in place in two minutes."

The duo winked their acknowledgement lights.

Duncan refocused on his own HUD and the movement in the corner of his vision. It was Zack. He was floating past him towards the southeastern pylon. He grabbed him by the shoulder and held up a finger to wait.

They both looked back up to see Six taking aim at them from an upper platform. Duncan held up his hand in a sign of peace. The Spartan recognized them and nodded back as Jonah came up from behind.

The binary leaped out from the pylon and slowly descended onto the pipeline. They began pulling themselves along the ladder system, using regular thruster bursts to crawl forward speedily.

"You've got two minutes before we blow the pylons, Irish." Jonah said as he clambered past. "Better get to it or I might just do something crazy."

"Crazier than nearly slicing someone's neck in hard vacuum?" Duncan asked back.

"Hey, if you want, I can get creative."

"Just do what you have to." Duncan looked on at the pylon. "And we'll do what we have to."

Once the Spartans had moved on, Duncan and Zack headed off to start securing the ODSTs to the pipeline using the clips on their suits and handholds on the pipe. They took them one at a time, using their packs to fly back and forth until all the downed trainers had been secured roughly twenty meters away from the pylon.

Duncan kept an eye on the cams of the rest of Epsilon. Nova, the Staff and Hector were busy gathering the 731s from the southwestern pylon left floating around in the wake of Team India. Deaks, Yuri and Rico were doing the same around the northern pylon after Foxtrot's assault.

The Spartans' feeds showed everyone heading for the command center, everyone except B170. It was no mystery to Duncan why Harris hadn't made an appearance during the initial assault. Chances were high that he never saw him slip past.

Harris' feed had him hiding in the shadow of a doorway on the central structure's southern face. He was splitting his attention between his own teammates, those from India and the security camera above his head. It slowly swiveled from left to right yet couldn't see far enough in either direction to notice the incoming enemy. That too was likely on purpose by none other than Kat.

The teams flew into place, taking positions at three of the four entryways.

"Breaching charges set." Harris reported. "Ready when you are, Tom."

Tom-B292, the acting commander, came in over comms. "Good. Get ready to breach. Wait for the pylons."

On each feed appeared the final countdown on the M168 charges: 30 seconds. The seconds ticked away: 15…10…5…

At zero, the reflected sunlight of Zeta Doradus was briefly replaced by three bursts of fire as the charges detonated, creating larger secondary explosions once the infrastructure succumbed. The blasts ballooned outward then were subsequently extinguished by the vacuum, leaving behind three smoldering stumps of sparking machinery and ashened frameworks. Thankfully, no explosions travelled further up the communication pipelines since they were inactive. In fact, the entire station was. Having not seen genuine use for well over several decades it was little more than a derelict outpost that had only recently come in handy.

"Secondary objective neutralized." Tom said. "Harris, do it."

Harris thumbed his detonator.

All four charges responded by giving off several syncopating beeps before blasting through the doors. Air screamed out of the interior. The Spartans pushed inside despite the suction and began slipping through the hallways of the building.

Alarms blared and security lights flashed around them as they traded fire with camouflaged elements of the 16 ODSTs garrisoned inside.

Zeta was the first to reach the lower-level lobby room. The stairs on the opposite side of the rectangular room would take them up to the command center. To reach it they fought from behind the assortment of overturned chairs and tables acting as cover for a squad of troopers intent on holding them back.

Their cover did them little good, particularly against one member of Zeta.

Six tossed a flashbang into the center of the room. Not waiting for it to go off, he bounded into the center of the fire, drawing the squad's attention. He slid beneath the descending flashbang, polarizing his visor right before the detonation. The flash caught all four troopers. He put three in the chest of each as they staggered from their cover then bounded up the steps without looking back. Jonah and Harris ran after him.

"Six, wait up." Harris called.

"I don't think he's interested in holding up for anyone." Jonah remarked as they turned onto the second half of the flight. "Not even us."

There was a loud bang upstairs.

They reached the top floor in time to see gunshots going off in the smoke-filled depths of the space beyond. There was the sound of MA37s and 5Bs on full auto. After several seconds, the room was quiet.

"Clear." Six said.

Jonah nodded at Harris and the two of them slipped inside with weapons raised. They scanned the length of the crescent shaped command center.

Six stood alone in the middle of the haze, staring out the forward viewing window at the lunar surface. The smoke slowly faded until the prone forms of seven troopers became visible. They had all been shot in the visor. Six was untouched. He turned to his teammates.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Jonah said as he walked over, kicking a downed trooper in the helmet.

"Where's everyone else?" Six asked.

"Still catching up." Harris replied, brushing off a piece of polymer on his shoulder from an earlier grenade blast.

"Jonah to Tom, we have control of the command center."

"Copy. We're on our way up. Are the main consoles secured?"

Jonah glanced at the three rings of consular stations near the walls. "Yup."

"Alright, we'll be there in thirty seconds. Just tackling the last holdouts."

"Understood." Jonah signed off the team comm and turned on Six. "You know we are a team. I know we don't always act like it but you don't have to go taking out entire platoons on your own."

Six responded with a dismissive nod.

Harris stepped up. "He's got a point, Six. This is part of our final examinations with the Stealth Pods, which means we shouldn't be taking too many risks. What if they had this room booby trapped?"

"They did." Six said drily.

A brief silence passed between them. Harris laughed at length, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did they? Well alright then…I guess you can handle yourself."

"Just yourself." Jonah added.

Six, seemingly sensing the tension, spoke up. "I saved us time."

"You're saying we can't keep up?"

"Nah, J." Harris laughed. "I think he's saying that he has to slow down for us."

Roland came in over comms. "We're not here to argue, just to get the job done. If Six did it before anyone else then there's not much left to say."

"Hope you can say that when you get rustled up by some Elites while Six is too busy squaring off with a Hunter pair." Jonah huffed.

"Yeah? I hope so too. Fight together, die alone. Isn't that the way it goes?"

"But we're not really all fighting together though, are we?"

Roland didn't say anything else. Neither did the rest of Zeta. Teams Foxtrot and India arrived seconds later.

Lucy, Min and Adam held up outside the door to watch their backs while Owen and Samson kept watch over their escape route on the ground floor.

Kat got to work on the main console near the front. She removed the paneling and snaked her hands through the bundles of viny cords to find the one she was looking for. Splicing came as easy to her as mincing for a cook. She docked the newly severed wires to a port on her TACPAD. With her new access she bypassed the first few security terminals using randomly generated passcodes to access the station's geographical database.

The main screen changed to a view of the surface of Onyx' northern peninsula. After zooming through the clouds, it stopped several kilometers above a canyon.

Tom stepped up. "That's…Gregor Canyon." He turned to the cryptanalyst. "You sure?"

Kat zoomed in to less than several hundred meters above the surface. What immediately stood out were the four X-shaped structures, two on either side of the canyon.

"It's the Onyx mines." Kat said. "Data suggests these buildings are the targets. The preliminary reconnaissance we're doing right now would suggest as much, and so would these guys." She zoomed in on each of the buildings, revealing the presence of scores of 731 personnel manning machine gun nests on, within and around the buildings. A number of squads patrolled the length of the ovular fence that hemmed in both sides of the mines. The two-dozen watch towers along the perimeter were also occupied.

"Looks like a company's worth of 731s. They'll be waiting for us. We'll have to figure out how we're doing this."

Tom didn't answer.

"What's the problem team-leader?"

"…That canyon."

"What about?"

"Its offly close to the Zone. I don't know…what's the LC thinking sending us this close…"

"Listen." Jonah said, jabbing a finger at the screen. "If that place is near the Zone then I don't think we should have anything to do with it. Chances are that's just a fake attack sight that the SCPO setup. Isn't that his MO? If it's all the same with you guys, I'd rather not get myself killed before I actually got the chance to do what I signed up for."

"No one said anything about dying, J." Roland said. "It's just a location."

"Tell that to Team Charlie. Oh wait, you can't, because we still don't have a clue what happened to those guys, do we? And that was all the way back in 39."

"Wuss." Kat said under her breath.

Jonah turned on her. "What'd you say?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "My grandmother would've had a thing or two to say about wusses like yourself."

Jonah took a threatening step forward but Harris put a hand on his shoulder.

"Jonah's got a point." Owens said. "Since when does the LC ever send us near the Zone? I mean, seriously."

"Same, I don't like it." Samson added.

Kat sighed explosively. "Don't tell me you two actually believe those ghost stories, do you? We all know it was the A-Company dropouts just covering up whatever they did to poor Charlie."

The two of them went silent. Lucy peeked in from the doorway. "I don't know about those stories but even the DIs who dropped out from Alpha Company said they sometimes saw things in the north way back when they were training here, strange lights every now and again. They say there are no buildings up there but who knows what's actually going on."

"ONI does own the planet after all." Roland said. "I wouldn't be too surprised if something were going on that we just didn't know about. I don't believe the ghost stories though, that just sounds like hearsay."

"And I'm here to say that I don't want to go." Jonah declared adamantly.

"That's not your call." Tom said and reexamined the screen. "The LC and SCPO wouldn't just send all the 731 personnel to a fake site. Gregor Canyon has to be it." His voice fell to a contemplative whisper. "But I wonder why."

After a moment's thought he turned to face the others. "Alright, suck it up Spartans. It looks like we're headed to the canyon. We do this quick and clean."

Kat disconnected her TACPAD and slipped the wires back behind the paneling. "Coordinates acquired."

Tom nodded. "Our exfil should already be in place. Let's move out."

Duncan watched their feeds as the Spartans left the building and jetted back towards the ridge. Once they were gone, Epsilon descended on the command center, depositing additional oxygen into the tanks of the unconscious troopers from the canisters on their backs. They also revived them with TTR batons whose circuits, once passed over, helped relax the armor's fibers left hardened by the polymer.

All the while Duncan thought about the exchange between the insertion team. To him, some of them sounded scared, mainly Jonah. Fear wasn't an emotion he thought they were capable of. There were rumors of that place up North, stories the candidates told each other in their downtime about a legend: the ghosts of Onyx. Whatever it meant he doubted he would ever find out. Keeping his head down for now would do him and the rest of the squad the most good in serving out the last month of their sentence.

Still something else was bothering him. It was Six. His actions in taking the command center were highly efficient but also detrimental. He couldn't simply go off on his own in the middle of a given mission. Yet he hadn't shown any signs of overcoming his lone wolf tendencies in all this time, and that was cause enough for concern.

Beta Company was expected to graduate next month. Someone would have to get through to B312 before he went to active duty. Yet if his own teammates that had known him for far longer couldn't get through to him then what chance did he really have of making him listen?

:********:

Kurt watched the four Pelicans take off from behind the ridge overlooking Arintero station. The Spartans, Detachment 731 personnel and Epsilon onboard left Mare Griseo's surface for open space.

Not long after, the UNSC Pioneer emerged from slipspace to pick them up, using the moon's girth and gravitational proximity to hide their exit vector. They returned to the slipstream the moment the Pelicans were onboard.

Kurt turned back to the Colonel's display. Ackerson had watched the entire occasion from a link sent by Deep Winter. He looked deep in thought yet satisfied.

"What do you think, sir?" Kurt asked.

"They certainly are effective." Ackerson replied. "B312 is in a category all his own. I'll be looking forward to your next report. I'll also send you the dossier on the Spartans' upcoming deployment orders."

Kurt saluted. "Looking forward to it sir."

"As am I, Ackerson out."

The display winked off.

Kurt released the breath he'd been unconsciously holding. In actuality he wasn't certain how he felt about the performance. The teams had done well as a whole. However, one Spartan had done exceptionally well on his own, and he couldn't help wondering what the price would be for that exceptionality.

Deep Winter materialized over the table in a flurry of snow. "You're somewhat worried as well, I'd imagine."

"About?"

"Zeta." Winter cradled his cane. "B312 in particular. He still has difficulty working with a team. We presumed joining him with Zeta would help increase cohesion. That presumption has not held up overtime."

"It is concerning." Kurt admitted. "All the same, his future assignment was specifically picked out to account for that."

Deep Winter raised a curious eyebrow at him. "So, you did plan for his inabilities?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, not his inabilities. His proficiencies."

"You're arguing perspectives, Ambrose. Objectively, B312 lacks any strong cooperative capacities. I'm sure you would know better than I do that not every objective can be accomplished through running and gunning alone. Other tact is required, comrades also." He placed his cane down and used it to lean towards him. "Even you did not operate alone during your active days."

"Blue Team was another story."

"Your story." Winter pressed, smiling knowingly at him.

Kurt sighed, returning a tired smile at the AI. "That's a finished tale, or at least my part in it. I'm here now, and I've gotten along just fine."

"You had us, me and Mendez, as well as the AI that came before me. Can you really say you didn't rely on anyone?"

Kurt thought it over. "Well now that you mention it, no." He turned his attention to the display, folding his arms over his chest. "Who knows. Maybe he'll surprise us as always."

"Maybe." Deep Winter echoed before disappearing in another snow flurry, leaving Kurt to himself. He kept watching the display as the Arintero was slowly swallowed up in the encroaching night.

He went over the events of the training session in his head. Despite some early difficulties the Spartans were on track to continue their success streak into the upcoming mass-drop. Unbeknownst to them it would all be in preparation for TORPEDO, a mission the likes of which he did not like to ponder. The large scale of the operation tended to remind him too much of PROMETHEUS, and of the many Spartans he'd trained that never returned from it. He'd sworn something like that wouldn't happen again. The time was coming where that would be put to the test.

In the meantime, he had one last month with Beta. He would make sure to hammer in what last touches they needed and accept that whatever he couldn't instill into them now they would have to learn in the field. Adapt or die. There had been no way around it for Spartans of his generation when they first fought the Covenant, not for Alpha Company, and most certainly not for Beta.

He was thankful though that he had gotten to conduct zero-gravity training with them while he could. His mind couldn't help wondering back to his incident years ago with a T-pack of his own. He laughed at the memory and where it had brought him. Even so, if he wore another T-pack in the next twenty years it would be too soon.

:********:

Duncan's pod rotated towards the Pioneer's opening drop bay. In the thirty minutes he'd had between leaving the Arintero and now he had been too caught up in what happened in between to consider his earlier concerns.

Upon returning, Tom briefed Beta Company on their objective. All 300 Spartans would deploy to Gregor Canyon under his leadership. Although Epsilon and some of the ONI APs would be accompanying them to ensure drop integrity, the operation would be done entirely under the Spartans' control, including the slipspace transition and subsequent insertion.

Tom assigned the different teams to one of the four mining structures. With nearly 75 Spartans assigned to each target building, Beta Company immediately headed to the drop bay with their guardian personnel to begin the drop.

They were still being timed after all. In the next twenty minutes the enemy installation on the ground would become 'aware' of the Arintero going offline and go on full alert. The point of the operation was a surprise attack to secure the UNSC mines and neutralize all hostile contacts.

Tom-B292 came in over comms. "Deploy on my mark. Three…two…mark!"

Beta Company launched their pods. They rocketed out into the vastness of slipstream space like a heil of autumn rain. Epsilon and the ONI APs followed suit.

Duncan watched the fleets of stealth pods that fell through the darkness all around him.

Then began the bumpy stage of this part of the trip. Duncan clung to his controls while steering down towards their exit vector. He kept a close eye on his monitor and the nearby pods of Zeta and Oscar. Roland occupied his right display, Six his left.

"Exit transition in 30 seconds." Tom said. Across the roster Beta Company winked their green acknowledgement lights.

Duncan started counting. Twenty-five…twenty…fifteen…

A loud burst of static broke him from his mantra. He quickly checked his pod for signs of damage. There was none, not in his.

On one of his displays, Six' visor reflected a cascade of sparks from the flashing equipment around him.

"Six?" Roland called.

He didn't respond, too busy checking on the sparking components within his pod. Their lights flickered.

"Six?" Jonah called. "What's going on?"

"I'm fine." He answered back. "Keep moving."

By now, Duncan could tell a catastrophic system failure in a drop pod when he saw one.

The Staff pulled in next to Six. "B312, don't take any chances. Transition into normal space immediately."

Before Six could reply, static filled his comms. Then his display winked out. His pod went offline right after, its interior left darkened. As his thrusters ceased to fire, his LRSOIP fell behind the passing masses.

Duncan didn't give himself a second to reconsider. He remembered what happened to Dikes and Strawson back during the training on Reach, how they had never found them. He wasn't about to let another person suffer that fate, not if he could do something about it. He activated his drag chute. His pod was immediately pulled back just as hundreds of others began transitioning into normal space.

He used his thrusters to maneuver next to the dead pod then equalized his rate of descent. He saw the helmet lights of the Spartan inside.

"Six, can you transition!?"

No answer came.

"Six!?"

Still no answer. The Spartan inside appeared hard at work with the fried components within his pod, to no avail. Duncan finally caught Six' attention through their viewports. He held up a questioning thumb. Six shook his head.

Duncan caught an idea. He took a deep breath, accepting that what he was about to try had a good chance of getting them both killed.

He reduced his speed so that he came above Six. He positioned himself so that their pods lined up, then shot downward, impacting the top of the dead vehicle.

Duncan typed the transition sequence into the keypad, briefly hesitated, then pressed the 'enter' button.

A flash of light overtook his viewport.

A heartbeat later the atmosphere of Onyx appeared before him.

The rest of Beta Company were already several kilometers further down, headed towards the northern peninsula.

But there was no sign of Six' pod beneath his own. He looked frantically to his left and right. There was no one there. "No…no, no, no, Six-"

A shadow descended over him. He looked up. There was another pod right above his own. It slowly gained enough speed to come down beside him.

The Spartan inside stared back, then gave him the thumbs up. Duncan had no words. He forced his trembling hand to return the gesture as he laughed to himself.

Now all that was left to do was land.

He could tell that his little maneuver had changed their trajectory. They were still bound for the peninsula but their chances of hitting the same landing zone was slim. It became slimmer the closer they came, and the problem of Six' pod being offline remained. Moreover, the growing flames around their LRSOIPs made Duncan worried about his chute. At these speeds he couldn't risk retracting it without breaking it. It was already groaning from the stress of having been deployed ahead of time. He would have to chance a full drop with it open.

The Staff's voice came in over comms. "Iris, what's the status of you and B312?"

"Sir, 312's pod is out of commission. It looks like we'll miss the drop zone by a kilometer north. I'll ride down with him to see if anything changes."

"…Understood…help where you can…I'll see you on the ground."

"Yessir." Duncan signed off. The Staff sounded like he knew exactly what he was really asking for in regard to staying with Six. But the ODST didn't have the heart to tell his squad leader that there was a chance he was also about to fall to his death.

At two minutes to the ground Duncan felt the sweat on his skin evaporate through his SPI's Techsuit. He bit back the pain to maintain control of his descent.

Beyond his viewport the clouds parted to reveal the extent of the canyon below. It was a series of earthy scars running from the eastern horizon straight down to the west. The mining facility located over a section of the natural fissures was already under attack. Hundreds of tracer rounds were being exchanged between positions both within and outside the facility. Spartan IIIs were pushing through the tree-line to make moves on the perimeter as snipers provided covering fire, taking out 731 personnel within the guard towers.

A recheck of their trajectory told him they would miss the canyon by a kilometer. Their new landing zone would be somewhere in the northern area known as Zone 67. What little he could do was pray under his breath that the other pod came back online and that his chute wouldn't break loose from the stress.

Both prayers were answered.

At less than a kilometer to the ground he saw Six' pod suddenly flash back to life. The electrical power flickered into place and his display reactivated. It was a more than welcomed surprise.

"Looks like you're back on." Duncan said. "Try your chute."

Six' chute was out a second later.

Their velocities slowly leveled out.

At 50 meters their breaking rockets activated. Duncan saw the other pod disappear behind a flash of green foliage before his world was swallowed up by thick jungle flora. He braced as his pod piston into the thick hide of a banyan tree. The bark took the brunt of the impact while his pod remained diagonally lodged in its base.

Duncan popped his hatch and hoisted himself out, falling a meter to the floor. Vines snaked across the ground and coiled around the exposed roots of scores of banyans that dominated the jungle around him. Flocks of startled birds flew from their perches within the trees.

He checked his TACMAP. Strangely, there were no topography readings here. No landforms. Nothing. The entirety of Zone 67 wasn't even registered on the satellite geographic layout. The topography only started 700 meters to the south, where the facilities of Gregor Canyon showed up. Otherwise it only displayed his position and Six' less than a short jog away.

Duncan found a zigzagging path over a small jungle plateau and sprinted along its length.

As he moved under the shadows of the trees and past the swampier areas of the jungle, he felt something. He stopped at one point to look around. There was nothing there. But he couldn't help the feeling that made him reach for his M6. There was something about this place that felt off. It wasn't the multi-colored birds moving from branch to branch or the lizards that frantically slithered away from his footsteps.

He forced his attention back on reaching the pod. After a few minutes spent navigating through the underbrush he found what he was looking for.

Six' pod lay at the base of a massive kapok tree whose girth warranted a respectful distance given it by the other trees, save for a large sapling that had fallen on top of the LRSOIP.

The pod itself was facedown with the weight of the sapling keeping it in place. He could hear the strained whine of the hatch's hydraulics failing to open.

He keyed open a private comm-link. "Six, you alive in there?"

The Spartan's acknowledgement light winked green.

Duncan breathed a sigh of relief. Lifting the tree wasn't an option given its size. That said, he could leverage it using the pod as a fulcrum.

"Give me a sec, I'm getting you out of this." He got a hold on one side of the tree and pulled his legs up to his chest. His weight ripped the damaged sapling's last roots out from its base. He let go once it rolled off the pod.

Taking a lesson from how Yuri had helped him back on Miridem, he started rocking the pod left and right. With the additional strength of the suit he soon gained enough momentum to cause it to flip over to the side. Six blew the bolts the moment the door was off the ground.

He fell out and expertly rolled away before the vehicle could fall back into place.

Duncan came over to him. "You alright?"

Six merely nodded as he rose to his feet. "We're not in a good spot, sir. My pod's fried."

Duncan inspected it himself. "Looks like a system failure. I don't know how that got past the AP's maintenance checks but you're honestly lucky that you got out of there."

There was chatter over the comms. Duncan could tell by the numerous voices that it was the teams of Beta Company coordinating to take on their objectives. Things were getting heated over at Gregor Canyon. From what he could discern, they had already secured one of the buildings on the canyon's southern side.

After quick consideration, Duncan and Six decided to head back to the former's pod. Since his was the most functional its SOS signal would definitely work.

He found his pod right where he'd left it and clambered inside to switch on the SOS. The repeat signal went out in five second intervals with enough power to be detected on every radio within several hundred kilometers.

"Our pick-up should arrive in a few minutes." Duncan said, leaping back down to the ground. "While it means we'll probably miss the action back at Gregor, it also means we have some time to talk."

Six seemed lost to whatever he was hinting at. Duncan seated himself on one of the banyan's thick roots. He figured now, after a near death experience for the both of them, was as good a time as ever to bring up what no one else was able to touch on. He took a look at the trees around him for whatever wisdom they had to offer then turned his attention fully on the standing Spartan.

"You're not really one to ask for help, are you? I watch you with your teammates. You never seem to rely on them, at least not much…why is that?"

The Spartan didn't answer, merely stared back at him with carbine in hand.

Duncan laughed at the awkwardness of the situation. Here he was asking a supersoldier why he didn't ask for help. Still, it was a question that needed to be asked for his sake. "I'm just curious why you do so much on your own."

Again, no answer.

The ODST sighed. "Geeze, you're stubborn. The rest of Zeta is the same way though so I have no real criticism there. However, I think you'll need a lot more than that if you hope to survive as a team."

No answer.

Seeing that he was getting nowhere he decided to try a change of topic. "Alright, let me ask something else. So, what's this thing the others were talking about back at the Arintero, these ghosts that live in the zone? Is that something we should be worried about?"

"It's just a myth sir." Six answered, much to his surprise. The Spartan looked around, likely making sure the area was secured. "It started five years ago back before there was a Zone 67. We used to use this area to train. Then one day we lost a team up here."

Duncan winced. "A whole team?"

Six nodded. "Team Charlie. After they disappeared, officials from ONI came and cordoned off the area. They planted a perimeter fence with mines to make sure no one else went in."

"…And Charlie?"

Six shook his head.

Duncan felt a strong compulsion to look over his shoulder but denied it the action. "So where do these 'Ghosts of Onyx' fit into all this?"

"A few in Beta say ghosts had something to do with why ONI cordoned off this place. Personally, I don't know why. I'm not superstitious. That doesn't mean I like this place."

"Uhuh." Duncan shrugged. "That last part sounds like a kid's story."

He instantly regretted his word choice. Then he thought better of it. Perhaps that was where he needed to go. "Speaking of which, I don't think I ever told you guys but I'm actually a dad, I've got a wife and son waiting for me back home. They're why I came out here in the first place. They're the reason why I fight…what's yours?"

The Spartan subtly perked up at the mention of family, then slowly deflated back into his normal defensive posture, both hands tightening on his rifle as though it were a source of comfort.

Duncan took notice. He knew after his conversation with the Lieutenant Commander several months ago that he would have to watch what questions he asked these Spartans about their pasts. Now he felt that if he didn't press in then he would never reach the root of the problem here, so he did.

"Do you have a family, Six? A homeworld perhaps?"

Six gave no outward reaction. His posture remained rigid, as though ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Duncan gave another long exhale. Still he spoke with careful deliberateness. "I'm an Earth-boy myself, born and raised. My mom was an accountant, my dad an ODST. I guess it's not that hard to tell which one I took after. I ended up losing them both; one to cancer, the other to the Covenant on Harvest." He reached into a compartment on his suit and pulled out the rock from the far-off colony world, drawing both their attention to it as he continued. "Grew up with a beautiful girl. Ended up marrying her. Had a beautiful kid, went to war. And all I really have to remind myself of what I've left behind is this rock my dad gave for my birthday from the same planet he'd died on. It's just a little memento I take out every now and again to remind myself what I fight for." He turned on Six, holding the rock towards him. "Now I'm asking you the same question. Can you answer it?"

The Spartan stood there, quiet for several long seconds.

Duncan sighed again at his failed efforts. "Can you at least tell me what you're real name is? I'm sure your parents didn't name you after a number."

"…That's classified sir."

"And why's that?"

"That's also classified sir."

"…Uhuh…" Seeing he was getting nowhere, Duncan tried laughing to himself to stave off the awkwardness. "Okay, let's just wait here until-"

"Jericho VII."

Duncan froze. Slowly he looked back up at him. "What?"

"Damask, Jericho VII." He paused as if to ponder the names. "That was my homeworld, I grew up there."

Duncan didn't interrupt. He let him continue at his own pace.

Six seemed to gather his thoughts from some distant part of his mind. "I-…I had a mother…and a father. I…think I had a sister." He looked like he was struggling with a deeper memory. "We drove to the Starport one evening. The whole city was doing the same thing. My parents, they…got me on a transport. Just me. Everyone did everything they could to save me, so much that they didn't do anything else to save themselves. Just me."

He turned to face Duncan with a directness he hadn't had before and the ODST straightened. "You ask me why I fight, sir? You ask me why I don't work with the others and go off on my own? The simple answer is if I think I can do the job myself then I do it, because I know I can take whatever comes as a result. I don't put others' lives on the line if I know I have a better chance than they do of coming out alive."

Duncan gawked behind his visor. He felt himself looking at the answer to the question that he hadn't known was right in front of him from the very beginning. "You fight hard so others don't have to fight at all, Is that accurate?"

Six hesitated, but slowly nodded.

The ODST breathed in the answer with a heavy heart. These Spartans had been through a lot. He'd figured as much. Still he couldn't imagine himself in that same position with his own family, separating just to survive. He was beginning to discern a theme to that story though. Slowly he picked out B312's real motivations.

"You care for them, your teammates I mean." He said. "Like family."

He could tell he was getting somewhere by the way the Spartan stiffened. Perhaps he wasn't used to his emotions being put on full display. Regardless, Duncan kept on. "You fight so hard so that no one else has to, that way you keep from losing people, and from becoming anyone else' burden. That's what you're thinking, right?"

Six gave no answer. But the tense silence was confirmation enough.

Duncan thought on his next words. It was hard. He forced them out. "Back during my training days, I had teammates too. We were called 'Charlie Team' as well, isn't that something." He stopped when Cosmo, Stanton and O'Reilly's faces crossed his mind. He felt a tightness in his throat. He closed his eyes to block out the feeling. "After graduation we went our separate ways. Two of them died in places I'll never see. One of them burned to death in his pod before his first mission. Another tried saving a teammate and a Jackal shot him for his trouble."

He opened his eyes, slowly leaning towards the Spartan. "They died and I couldn't do a thing about it. I didn't even get to see them go out. I'm sorry to tell you this Six, but no matter what you do you can't always stop what happens out there, not on your own. Work with your teammates while you have them with you. Let them fight alongside you, just as hard as you do, because they deserve that chance."

"…And what if I don't, sir?" Six asked back.

Duncan looked him straight on. "Then you might one day find yourself fighting with no one else left to fight for."

The meaning of his own words was lost on Duncan. Although he felt they had some meaning, whatever they were, he couldn't say for sure. That didn't stop the strong silence that fell between them right after. Neither of them spoke, only stared at the other with emotionless visors hiding away whatever lay beneath.

Then the atmosphere around them changed. There was no alteration in light or wind, only the harshly discomforting sensation of being watched.

Six looked like he was about to say something when he suddenly tensed and aimed his carbine at Duncan. In his surprise it took him a moment to realize that the barrel wasn't aimed at him but at something behind him.

He felt a cold chill crawl up his back. He leaped off the root and swiveled around with his M6 already up.

There was nothing.

"What is it, Six? What'd you see?"

"…Thirty meters to our west, sir." Six' voice surprised him. He sounded almost horse, like he was hyper-focused on whatever he was looking at.

Duncan followed his direction towards a distant part of the jungle. He scanned the low-lying shrubs and the shadows cast by the thick foliage. There was nothing. "I don't see any-"

Then he saw it.

Phased against the shadows between two banyan trees like a sun in the night was a single, fiery eye. The golden orb of luminescence three-times the size of his head floated over the jungle floor with no sign of anything holding it up. Though there was no obvious indication from the sphere's featureless surface, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow watching them.

The orb began to grow larger. No, not larger, closer. It moved without noise through the shadows of the jungle as it sluggishly came towards them.

Duncan was less curious and more terrified. The Spartan next to him seemed rock-solid, observing the strange phenomena through his carbine.

"Do you know what that thing is?"

There was a brief hesitation from the Spartan before his acknowledgement light winked red.

"Six…we're backing up." The order reached him and they both quietly stepped back behind the banyan tree where his pod had crashed. Six covered the left, Duncan the right.

They waited for it to reach them. Still, whether it was coming or not, they couldn't tell as its approach was utterly silent.

Then another noise broke that silence. It became clearer and more comforting the closer it came until it was right on top of them. Overhead, the roaring engines of a Pelican flew past then swung back to hover over them.

A voice came on the comm. "This is Mendez to Private Iris. You alive down there, son?"

Duncan felt relief wash over him. "I'm here, sir. So is B312. We've…got a situation."

"Explain."

Duncan dared skirt along the side of one of the trees roots and looked out over the top.

The orb was gone.

There was no sign of whatever had just been there, only the darkness of the jungle that shifted as the dropship's engines brought about an artificial whirlwind.

Duncan blinked away his disbelief. He turned to Six who was also looking past the tree on the other side. The two glanced at each other in confusion.

"Never mind, sir. Whatever it is, it's gone."

"And what was down there to begin with?"

"A…well, I don't actually know, sir."

"Alright, don't worry about it. Just get ready for exfil."

The Pelican slowly descended through a nearby opening in the forestry. It came low enough that the ramp was able to settle down on the swampy jungle floor. Mendez stood in the opening with both hands behind his back. "Come aboard, gentlemen. Move."

Duncan and Six jogged over with well-deserved haste. They came aboard and settled into opposite seats near the exit. The ramp came back up as the Pelican ascended.

Mendez held on to an overhead handle. He didn't look like he needed it by the way he stood strong against the bumpy ride. He scrutinized both Helljumper and Spartan with his customary hard glare.

"Good to see you two made it." He finally said. "The exercise back at Gregor Canyon is almost over so we're heading to Curahee instead. Ambrose will debrief you two regarding your drop."

"Understood sir." Six replied.

"What about our pods?" Duncan asked. "Aren't you going back for them?"

"Later."

Duncan didn't know why but he felt that by later, he actually meant never. It was just a feeling. Still, his mind was still racing at the thought of whatever it was they had just seen back there.

"Saw any ghosts?" Mendez asked sarcastically, seemingly clairvoyant.

"I don't really know what I saw, sir. It just looked like an orb. Six saw it too."

Mendez turned on him. "Did you now?"

"It looked like some oversized lightbulb, sir." Six said. "I couldn't say what it was for sure."

The SCPO nodded. "I've heard stranger stories. Take it easy while you still can, both of you. We'll be back in 20." He walked back into the cockpit and shut the door behind him.

The comm-chatter increased as they passed over Gregor Canyon. Jonah's voice came in over team freq. "Hey Six, had a nice vacation?"

"…I wouldn't call it that, no."

"Shame. You really missed the whole show down here. We won by the way, without your help."

"If you're trying to make him feel bad, just stop while you're ahead." Harris butted in. "I'm sure he already has enough on his plate with almost dying and all."

"You did miss a lot, Six." Roland said. "You better make up for it when we do our last drop on Arena-1. You copy?"

"Copy."

"And hey, if you're ever in a broken pod about to crash and die, how about calling for a little help next time?" Jonah chided with a voice that oozed sarcasm.

Yet Six had none in return. He spoke with a genuineness that caught Duncan's attention and made even his tenacious teammate go quiet. "Yeah, next time."

He signed off the comm and looked at Duncan, then reached out a hand. "Thanks for the save back there, sir."

Duncan smiled and nodded. He reached over, took his hand with his own and shook it. "Thanks for the chat."

Seminibus – Seeds


	38. Beta - Chapter 8 (Silentium)

Chapter 8 - Silentium

April 30th, 2545 (09:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

Zeta Doradus System, Onyx

Near Camp Curahee

:********:

Spring was in full bloom across the surface of Onyx. The jungle forestry was awash with red, yellow and blue blossoms. Trees were given a refreshed coat of emerald leaves that glistened like diamonds after a predawn shower. The foliage seemed to dance about in the grip of a passing morning wind. There was an earthy scent mixed with a sweet aroma in the air, a gift from the yellow evening primrose starting to grow in the underbrush.

Kurt hoped that the Spartans would have at least gotten to see all this before they left. To many of them this planet had been as much their homeworld as the one they left behind. Only, many of them might have been too caught up in their final training regimes to even take notice.

During the last three-step phases of stealth insertion training, Beta Company had successfully pulled off one expert landing after another, taking on whatever challenge was sent at them by the DIs and 731 personnel. Their proficiency as a company became more refined with each subsequent exercise they passed. He had a few more conducted to test the company from top to bottom, having them conduct long range reconnaissance missions as binaries and even pitting whole platoons against one another. Then came the ultimate competition to see who won top honors before graduation, as was custom. That last part had been a point of rivaling contention between Foxtrot, India and Zeta since the three top performers virtually wiped each other out near the end, so a three-way tie was decided.

Then they were ready.

Yesterday, Beta Company's graduation ceremony had been held in the main atrium of the UNSC Pioneer. He personally oversaw the process of insignia and rank distribution to the Spartans as they lined up to receive them. He felt pride welling up in his chest at seeing them all dressed in their ceremonial uniforms and their proud, overjoyed faces.

Then they were gone.

With no time to waste in this war, save for the few he had selected to take part in the Headhunter Program at a facility on the opposite side of Onyx, the bulk of Beta Company left Zeta Doradus aboard the Pioneer. On the very same day as their graduation, not more than a few hours later, they were shipped out to their first deployment orders.

All at once Camp Curahee became a much quieter place. The silence across the camp was something Kurt had had to grow used to in the wake of Alpha Company's departure. The transition period between companies was always a more tranquil time, one where he found both the clarity and time to think about what he had accomplished in the last seven years, what came next, and what he would do with the memories of the departed.

But they weren't the only ones that he felt left too soon. In their time here the ODSTs of Squad Epsilon had also established their presence at the camp. For one, they tended to socialize more with the Spartans during their downtime than the resident drill instructors. Sometimes they even ate with them in the cafeteria, despite that the DIs had their own to themselves. They were definitely a more soldierly bunch than he'd seen in a while, being willing to talk with the Beta Company candidates as though they were already part of the ordinary rank-and-file. That had gone a long way among the Spartans in giving them their first real feel for interacting with UNSC personnel outside the Curahee directorate. The result was a boost in morale among many of the teams and a detectable increase in their already heightened desire to fight on the frontlines.

However, time had crept up on the ODSTs in the end. Their preestablished end date for their service to ONI had come quickly, and on the morn of April 25th they packed their duffels. They came to the inspection yard where Kurt himself had personally thanked them for their service and wished them well. Mendez then took them in a Warthog convoy back to parade ground Sentinel. At approximately 0300 Hours the stealth prowler UNSC Falkirk had descended on the grounds to make their scheduled pickup. Under the quiet darkness of the predawn the ODSTs of Squad Epsilon left Onyx, leaving without saying a word to the still slumbering Spartans, and without asking to either.

The next day some of the Beta Company candidates had asked about them. They quickly pieced the clues together, however, and said nothing else on the matter. Whatever their feelings were, there was little room for them in their line of work. They quickly refocused their attention on the next exercise.

Still, Kurt found himself thinking on the troopers as well as the Spartans. In a way they were both cut from the same cloth of defiant humanity while different in other respects. One would return to its unit while the other became its own. One hadn't gotten to see the other leave while the other never got to see them graduate. Both would undoubtedly fight against the Covenant in their own ways, and both would likely never see or hear of the other ever again.

He leaned over the rails of the wide observation platform nestled in the titanic arms of one of the Banyan trees a short walk from Curahee. The high elevation helped him get a better view of the distant camp and of what potential lay in store for its future. So far, he had gotten some thoughts about what needed to be done to prepare for the next stage. Even so, his mind still felt clogged with the blockade of unaddressed emotions that were more than likely to secede on their own once he focused on a new priority, as always.

The sound of boots climbing over metal made him look back over his shoulder at the opening in the bottom of the platform. He quickly recognized Mendez as he climbed up the last few rungs of the ladder there before hoisting himself onto the platform. His face didn't look strained from the effort, despite that they were more than thirty meters off the ground. It paid testament to the fact he had aged well for a man his senior.

"Hey Chief," Kurt said. "Need something?"

Mendez simply shook his head as he strolled over. "Just looking for something." He stopped at the railing next to Kurt and looked out at the view. His hardened face softened somewhat. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a pack of his Sweet William cigars. Three had already been taken out. He took out the forth, planted it between his teeth and lit up the other end with his lighter, using his hands to cover the process against the morning winds until it caught alight. He breathed in the roasted-flavored smoke then let it out in a slow exhale. It relaxed him a little, as always. Reaching back into the pack he offered the last cigar to the Lieutenant Commander.

Kurt shook his head. "You know I don't smoke, Chief."

Mendez shrugged as he put it back in his pocket. "Figured you could use it."

"Why so?"

Mendez side-eyed him. "The last time you came out here without telling anyone it was right after Alpha's graduation. I ended up having to ask Eternal Spring where you'd wound up." He scrutinized the Spartan for a moment. "…They'll be fine, sir."

Kurt looked back out at the ocean of swaying jungle foliage around him, making the platform feel like a boat out at sea. "You think so?"

"We trained them ourselves, sir. We wouldn't have sent them out there if we didn't think they were ready for what they would find."

"…And how can we be sure?"

Mendez inhaled another dreg from his cigar as he looked Kurt over, only to abruptly puff out the same breath. At length he took out his cigar and examined it like a craftsman would his tools of the trade. "Permission to speak freely sir?"

"Granted."

"We brutalized them, toughened them, hardened them for seven straight years without end and they survived it, just like you and the rest of the IIs way back when. If they're not ready then they have no one to blame but you and me since we had those seven years." He pointed his cigar at the LC. "But I'm not blaming myself, and I'm sure as hell not blaming you sir, so I don't know why you seem to feel the need to point the finger at yourself before anyone's even gotten the chance to fight. The way I see it, what we accomplished here was nothing short of the impossible. Let the Spartans actions on the battlefield speak for themselves."

"My concern isn't if the Spartans are capable." Kurt said. "My concern is if their capabilities will be enough."

Mendez stared at him. "With all due respect, Lieutenant Commander, you're still thinking of what we saw back on the Point of No Return. You're saying we didn't learn anything from what happened to Alpha. Again, with all due respect sir, I think you're dead wrong. What we learned we implemented into Beta's training, increasing team cohesion even down to the cellular level with these Spartans so there'd be no repeats of the same event. With what they've learned here, there's no chance that TORPEDO will turn out the same way as PROMETHEUS."

"And how can we be so sure?"

Mendez glowered at him. "You said that already, sir."

"Because we've done this already. Now, we're about to do it again, train another batch. I want to make sure that every single one of them has a good chance of lasting out there."

The SCPO gave a long, heartfelt sigh. He turned to gaze over the swaths of swaying trees as he seemed to remember something. "There was this young Marine Sergeant that I knew some years ago. When I went back to active duty after training you all in Dr. Halsey's program, I ended up meeting him. We fought the Covenant together on Harvest once or twice. He was a reckless kind of guy. He told me once that it didn't really matter to him how long he lived, only that he got to see some action, and that at the end of each day he got the job done."

Mendez gazed up at the blue morning sky, maybe even at where the Pioneer had once been in orbit. "I don't think it's about how long they live sir." He said. "I don't think it's about how long we live either. Take it from a guy who's pushing sixty, age doesn't make you a better fighter, it just makes it harder to be good at what you do best."

"Then what is it about?" Kurt asked.

"Its about what they do with the time they have and the job they've been given." Mendez turned on him. "No soldier ever got to decide when or how they died, only where and why. That Sergeant told me that. It's been that way since the dawn of time, for everyone else, for Alpha…and now for Beta."

Kurt closed his eyes to feel the wind on his face. He slowly let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding to let it flow away with the breeze. "Can I ask, who was that Sergeant you met? Did he have a name?"

"Forge." Mendez said, putting his cigar back comfortably between his teeth. "John Forge."

"Sounds like he was one hell of a Marine."

"He was, maybe still is, wherever he is."

Kurt nodded. He had to admit, if not openly then at least to himself, that Mendez had a point. All soldiers eventually faced death. That was the way of it. But they didn't have to throw away their lives. He quietly hoped that maybe the time and effort he'd invested into them wouldn't be thrown away, that Beta Company would prove to be more than what their original purpose was intended to be, and that maybe they would excel past even his own expectations. A brief remembrance of the top performers like Foxtrot, India and Zeta left him with an unexplainable feeling that that hope, as far-reaching as it was, was not misplaced. It was just a feeling.

The holotank on the platform rurred to life. Deep Winter appeared a second later within an enrapturing blizzard that eventually wrapped itself into a cape at his back. "I hope I'm not interrupting but the UNSC Agincourt just arrived in system with the supply delivery we'll need for the incoming class. They've asked for our coordinates."

Kurt rose off the rail, life flowing into his towering frame anew. "Send it. Have them deliver the supplies via Pelican to parade ground Sentinel. We'll meet them there." He twisted his neck a little to remove a bothersome cruck and nodded at Mendez, earning a light but reassured smirk from the older man that his superior's mind was back on track.

Kurt turned and went towards the ladder with Mendez following close behind. "We've only got about a month to make the necessary preparations before Gamma Company gets here." His characteristic grin spread across his lips. "Let's get to it."

:********:

Duncan stood watching beside the rest of Epsilon as the ramp of the Falkirk hissed open. Bit by bit, the interior of the Trafalgar's Hanger Bay 4 became more visible. It hadn't changed very much in the last six months. Pelicans, Longswords, Broadswords and even a few Prowlers still occupied the landing platforms here and there. The one notable change was that there were much more hanger crew now and at least twice the number of starfighters than last time.

The moment the ramp hit their landing platform the squad grabbed their duffels and walked out into the open.

"Man." Zack said, slipping onto his hands and knees to touch the floor as though the ship itself were an object of reverence. "I never thought I'd miss this place."

"Save that celebration, private." The Staff said. "We're not back at Falchion yet. We still need a ride."

Commander Tarkovsky strode idly down the ramp with his hands in his pockets. He stopped to lean against one of the ramp's extension struts to watch them as they talked. One by one they stopped once they realized he was still there. He held a finger up to his lips. "Loose lips sink ships." He said in a singsong voice. "Remember, you are to tell no one of what you've seen or done while in our service, as per the agreement. If you talk, we'll hear. A simple slip of the tongue and you might find not long afterwards that you no longer have one." He grinned at them before turning and walking back up the ramp, waving over his shoulder at them. "But by then that would be the least of your worries. See you around, Epsilon."

The ramp rose back into the prowler. A moment later the Falkirk ascended off the floor, turned in the large bay and headed through the opening doors of a transitional tunnel. The craft slowly disappeared as its camouflaging technologies removed it from visible existence and the doors sealed shut behind it.

What was left was a quietness no one was quite prepared for. There was an unspoken tension between the squad that no one was willing to face, not just yet. But it would have to be addressed, Duncan knew, and most likely before they reached Falchion.

The Staff broke the silence. "Come on Epsilon, let's find a bird that can take us down."

The squad followed him off the platform and down a set of stairs onto the ground floor to search for a flight.

:********:

The ride through Reach's atmosphere was also deathly quiet. There was no other noise save for the roar of the Pelican's engines and the creaking of the several cargo crates tethered to the center of the bay.

Earlier they had managed to find a Pelican pilot about to perform a supply-run to Falchion and convinced him to let them tag along.

So far no one had talked. Their eyes remained partly on the floor, partly on their boots and occasionally on the reentry flames flickering over the cockpit window.

Duncan looked around to see if anyone would break, mostly because he didn't want to be the first to bring up what no one else wanted to touch on. No one showed any visible signs of cracking so he hedged his bets on Zack. It was a wise wager. The radioman gave in shortly after.

"So…" He began. "I don't know about you guys but between you and me, I actually kind of liked the Spartans. That Harris-guy was pretty funny I've gotta say. Cracked a few jokes with him that I wasn't expecting him to get and he one-upped me each time."

No one said anything for a moment. Then Rico spoke up. "Yeah…yeah, I guess they were all pretty chill."

"'Dren."

Rico turned on Deaks. He was sitting a seat down from him. "What?" Rico asked.

A knowing smile crossed the sniper's face. "Children. That's what you meant to say right?" He looked around at the others. "Children, kids, non-combatants…" He stopped at the Staff who kept to himself with his eyes closed and arms folded over his chest in thought. "Is that what we signed up for, sir? Because if so…I've got to say I love being in the ODSTs."

Everyone looked at him funny. Even the Staff peeked a remotely curious eye open at him.

Seeing that he had their full attention he continued. "You guys seem tense. You've been like this since we found out about what Beta actually was. I figured we could finally bring this out into the open since we're not in ONI's backyard anymore. It makes sense, all of it, everything we did back there, so I don't see why you're all so quiet."

"And I don't see why you're so okay with training child soldiers." Nova said, leaning forward to face him from her opposite seat. "You are a weirdo, but I never figured you to be the type that would be comfortable with what we just finished doing."

"Oh, I'm the weird one. Okay, lets test that. What did we do back there that was so wrong, tell me? Come on, do it."

Duncan felt the battle that had been raging within his own conscience for the last six months suddenly given full manifestation in the form of the Specialist and the Corporal. He watched the back and forth intently.

"Alright, okay, lets try this." Nova began. "How about the fact that the only people that ever did that in human history were mass-murdering dictators and sadistic warlords that didn't care who they sent to die for their own personal gain. So what does that make us?" Nova stared the corporal down as he confidently grinned back.

"That makes us smarter than them." Deaks laughed. "More moral too."

Nova's brow angrily furrowed. "Explain?"

"See, that's a false equivalency. Those warlords and dictators you talked about, like you said, they fought for their own personal gain. The UNSC is fighting for the survival of humanity as a species. You can't get any more altruistic than that. We're not training the Khmer Rouge or the Red Guards, not the Koslovics or even the Friedens. We trained Spartans, supersoliders meant to protect our right to exist, something the Covenant isn't keen on recognizing."

"He's…got point, Nova." Yuri said hesitantly. "Sure, Comrade Stalin was mass-murderer and turned whoever he wanted into soldiers, but he never claimed that he wanted protection of every human being on Earth. Quite opposite."

Nova took in a sharp breath. "We…trained…children. Does no one else see how strange that is that they'd been there for years, training and no one knew. There were others too, that Alpha Company that they mentioned. And who's to say that that set we fought with on Miridem weren't kids once that were playing soldier as well? They should not have been forced to fight in this war."

"I think they have every right to fight in this war." Deaks said, straightening up. "I talked with some of them about their pasts, mainly Jonah. You know where he's from? Take a good guess."

Nova glared at him but couldn't know the answer. "Where?"

"Eirene."

Duncan knew of it. It was one of the worlds on the mid-rim during the Covenant's rapid push through the outer colonies.

"The Covies glassed it back in '35." Deaks said. "Jonah told me how he had a big family once, parents, brothers and sisters. After that he had no one. The Covenant killed them all. When recruiting officers from ONI came up to him outside his orphanage and offered him the chance, you know what he told them? He said, 'Just hurry up and sign me up before I shank you both.'" He stopped to laugh. "The kid was a soldier even from back then. And…for my own reasons, I don't see why we should stop them if they want to fight."

"Children should not be fighting." Nova corrected. "They're the ones we should be fighting for."

Deaks was incredulous. "Didn't you hear what I just said? Have you looked around? If you haven't noticed Nova, but a normal person like you and me can look at a kid and see just that, a kid. An Elite looks at a kid and sees him the way he sees you with a rifle. You're both the same to it: something its gods told it to kill by any means necessary." He leaned back in his chair and huffed. "Think about it. Since when did the Covenant care enough to only kill adults, huh? When they come across a human world, they don't see the individual human lives that live down there and their ages or sex, only something big for them to burn. If they don't care about distinctions and will destroy us all regardless, then why should we care about distinctions either? If we want to survive then everyone will have to fight. If those kids can do it, and hell lets face it, better than even we can, then let them. More power to them, because we need the manpower."

Nova continued to stare at him, troubled yet persistent. "I disagree. I don't think every single one of them is like Jonah who I'm pretty sure is something of an early-onset sociopath. The others could have been forced to be there."

"No, actually."

The objection hadn't come from Deaks' mouth, but from Duncan's. It had slipped out. The squad's attention shifted to him. He took in a shaky breath to steady himself. "I-…went out one night to speak with the LC back in December. I…asked him if there was a way for me to quit."

He found himself struggling to finish his sentence. He swallowed and summoned the full force of his will to speak. "I couldn't take it. I really couldn't, what we were doing there I mean. Take that as you might. There was something the LC told me about the Spartans. He said they chose those candidates specifically because they were orphans whose worlds were destroyed by the Covenant. They took no one from intact worlds, none. Even then they didn't 'take them' as much as ask them all if they wanted to join the program…and they said yes. Everyone we trained there was there because they wanted to be, but I didn't want to be. I didn't want to think what would happen if my…kid…." He faded off.

A measure of empathy eased Deaks' gaze as he looked at him. "I was wondering what you were thinking. I figured you might've been worrying about Noah the whole time. Listen, I'm not saying we should just start signing up anyone and everyone's kid to fight. What I am saying is that this war isn't like any other. Humanity never faced anything this existential since the Cold War because we were all stuck on the same planet with nukes. Now we're not safe no matter where we go. I'm saying that anyone who needs to at the very least should be allowed to know how to defend themselves, because everyone has a target on their back so long as their human."

Hector breathed in and let out a long sigh. "I really hate this war. Did I ever tell you guys that? I've got no big opinions in that part of the existential department, but maybe that's the biggest opinion there is."

"Amen." Zack said under his breath, his comedic fervor long gone.

Nova became more resigned while still maintaining her adamancy. "I still believe that we should be the ones to protect them, not themselves, because if they're the ones forced to do it then what good are we?"

"We're good enough to show them how its done." Deaks bit back. "Good enough to hold the line for the next generation to learn how to fight, if they have to. That's just my-"

One by one the squad began catching on to the fact that the Staff's eyes were open and he was staring pokerfaced at Deaks, the latter being the last to take notice.

"Are you done, Corporal?"

There was a hardness to his voice that made Deaks flinch slightly. He gave back a slow nod in return. "Yeah…I'm done."

The Staff looked to Nova. She nodded as well and looked away. He scanned them all, testing them with his gaze. "Understand something here and now troopers, whatever your morals are, whatever your case may be for or against what we did on Onyx, you are not to speak of it to anyone outside this group of eight right here. In fact, don't talk about it at all if you don't need to, not even for debate. ONI may be keeping an eye on us for some time. We don't want to be involved with them again if we can help it. Until we're no longer on their radar, however long that might be, keep…that information…to yourselves." His steely eyes locked on Zack in particular. "Am I clear, radioman?"

Zack nervously swallowed. "Yessir."

The Staff looked to everyone else in turn. They responded with the same: "Yessir."

Duncan knew it wasn't fear of the Staff that made them answer. They respected the man, but it was for their shared fear of ONI that they agreed to silence. The question remained that if the Office of Naval Intelligence had something to the magnitude of the Spartan III program running for years in the war's background, then what else were they doing that no one knew about? He accepted that he would have to live with that question now for the rest of his life, however long that might be. He hoped at least that it was long enough, or perhaps short enough to never find out.

His thoughts went to his family. He thought of his dream of that Spartan carrying Erica out of their burning apartment, only to respond when he called his son's name. Maybe there was some truth to what Deaks had said. A generation had already largely passed that was the first to fight the Covenant, and they had learned from them how to do it. What was to stop the next generation from doing the same thing. Still, that dream, that nightmare haunted him. If he could help it, in some way, shape or form, he would make it so that his son, Erica or anyone he loved never had to fight in this war, and whatever it required to make that a reality he would commit himself to wholeheartedly.

The rest of the trip went by in silence. However, the tension from earlier was finally gone. Everyone had said what they had to say after half a year spent avoiding the topic. It was a welcomed relief. Perhaps that was why the Staff chose to let Nova and Deaks go at it for a while before he intervened, to let them blow off some steam first then set the ground rules just before they returned to normal life.

After ten minutes Duncan felt the Pelican level out into a regular flight path through the atmosphere. Another half hour and the dropship's speed decelerated, then the craft rotated and began a final descent. A gentle bump confirmed their landing.

The French-sounding pilot came in over the intercom. "This is Monsieur Cordégo to Epsilon, we have arrived at Falchion Base. Opening the doors for you to disembark in three."

The ODSTs got on their feet and hefted their duffels onto their backs. The bay door creaked open and the light of the noonday sun leaked inside more and more like a breaching dam. Eventually, the ramp came down fully, allowing the afternoon breeze to wash over them, dispelling the quietness of the interior.

Duncan took in the cool air and felt it refresh his lungs. As he walked out into the sunlight of Epsilon Eridani with the others, he felt what he had expected to feel at that moment but to an even greater degree than what he'd imagined: the joy of coming back home.

Silentium - Silence


	39. Battle of Actium - Chapter 1 (Feles et Mus)

Chapter 1 - Feles et Mus

May 7th, 2545 (17:05 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

Commonwealth of Pavia, Continent of Treviso

Near Clay-Antonia Shipyards

:********:

Actium was a world whose very existence was a mystery to scientists. Located in the Aquilla system as the fourth planet from the star, its very being as a celestial body was both a denial of mathematical possibility and common sense.

Being 1.5 times the size of Earth and twice that of Miridem, it was in relatively the same stellar neighborhood as Aquilla's neighboring star, Euryale-1. By extension, it was also in range of Euryale-1 when it went supernova 22 million years ago. Its self-destruction had an apparent magnitude of 4, beating both the records of the SN 1987A and SN 2307B observations by a whole order of magnitude. Put plainly, the blast, with the star itself weighing an estimated 10 solar masses beforehand, would have had the destructive capacity to obliterate the Aquilla System and everything nearby. Yet both the star and at least one of its original planets remained perfectly intact, hence why Aquilla was dubbed by many in the UNSC scientific community as the "Miracle System" and Actium as the "Miracle Planet".

In the wake of the explosion, Euryale-1 turned into a pulsar neutron star. It remained close to the seemingly indestructible world at 2.728 light years distance, making it almost four times closer than Earth's second-brightest star, Sirius. Actium's close proximity to the new celestial body made it so that the planet had 26-hour days with evenings where the sky was a predominantly light blue hue due to the radiating light from Euryale, creating what were colloquially known as 'Blue Evenings' or 'Solar Evenings'. Whenever the local star Aquilla set, the surface of the planet would remain temporarily well-lit. At the same time, the stars in the night sky would also be visible, contributing heavily to Actium's status as a scenic destination and hub for tourism among the inner colonies. Hence the origin of the popular romantic phrase: "A Night on Actium."

Next to other worlds like Camber, New Carthage, Reach and formerly Miridem, Actium was part of the dozen planets that fell under the classification of the "Nexus Beltway", worlds that connected Earth to both the Inner and Outer colonies as well as vice versa. It was a major point of commerce and trade by proxy.

Other than being in the top-3 list of planets with the highest rate of annual tourism, it was also known for its massive naval shipyards.

Actium was host to one of the three Subdivisional Headquarters of Sinoviet Heavy Machinery, the others being on Reach and New Carthage while the primary headquarters resided in Southeast Asia back on Earth. Sinoviet possessed multiple shipbuilding installations on the planet including several Xiaoping-class Shipyards the size of entire cities. There the construction of new ships for the UNSC Navy was actively carried out and a large number of vessels involved in the war effort had their birthplace on this planet as a result. That fact alone made its defense against the current Covenant onslaught critical to humanity's chances for survival.

On the early morning of May 1st, the first Covenant ships slipped into the Aquilla system, quickly growing in numbers until an entire fleet had assembled on the outer edges. Actium's entire population was immediately prepared for mass-evacuations as the Aquilla Home Defense Fleet was sent to face the Covenant naval forces, then quickly forced to retreat to Actium. The tactical U-turn was due to the arrival of the second Covenant fleet on the other side of the system's outskirts mere hours after the first. Both proceeded to bare down on Actium in a coordinated stellar pincer, descending on the home defense fleet and laying siege to the world itself.

On the same day, the alert had also gone throughout the UNSC military network on Reach. In response, a dozen naval battlegroups were assembled together from the Epsilon Eridani Defense Fleet and the 341st Expeditionary Fleet to form the Reach QRF.

Duncan and the rest of Epsilon barely had any time to adjust to being back at Falchion before they found themselves being issued new deployment orders. Much to Duncan's own chagrin, he had been too tired to even reach the Dante Building's communication cubicles and fell asleep on his bunk shortly after their arrival. Now he was regretting it. He would have to wait another unknown stretch of time before he could check on Erica or O'Reilly and let them know he was still alive.

On May 1st, the entirety of the 7th Battalion was dispersed to different elements of the Reach QRF alongside contingents of Marines, Pilots and Armored personnel inbound to Actium. They left Epsilon Eridani, stopping at the Greydowns gas giant to link up with the Cygnus quick reaction force. Their number added 20 additional ships to the original fleet's 71, giving them a sizable boost in naval strength.

By May 4th, the relief forces had arrived at Actium to find the world hanging by a thread. Although they had fared marginally better than the Ulterin Home Defense fleet, Aquilla's fleet was visibly on the ropes. They were barely clinging to the northern and southern atmospheric regions. Everything else in between was under Covenant control.

Strangely, rather than glassing the world, the two invading fleets had chosen to occupy the major territories in the eastern and western hemispheres.

Instead of reaching the major population centers under assault, the leadership of the Actium relief force sent the bulk of those forces to assist in the protection of the Sinoviet shipyards. Under the orders of the Subdivisional Headquarters, the company was effectively abandoning the planet and moving its assets off world. To do it they required the protection of naval battlegroups assigned to different sites far away from major settlements.

The 7th Battalion had been attached to Battlegroup Indigo; a group tasked with the protection of the northeastern island-continent of Treviso. The ODSTs themselves were dispatched to one of the less-populated regions within the Commonwealth of Pavia, a protectorate of the Republic located on the mainland of the larger, southeastern continent.

The battalion was dropped at the Clay-Antonia Shipyards to protect it against local Covenant incursions. Given its Xiaoping classification, the installation was easily the size of several conglomerate townships and operated similarly in its magnitude. The site was projected to take a week before it would be fully cleared of all naval assets.

Garrison, now a Colonel after a promotion that came in the aftermath of Miridem, organized the four companies into a three-layered defensive grid across the installation's encompassing jungle terrain. Meter-deep trench lines and machine gun nests were dug to strengthen each position, making it harder for the Covenant to flush them out. Despite that fact the invaders still tried their hand at wiping them out.

For the last three days Covenant expeditionary forces had launched repeated assaults on the shipyards by both ground and air. Scores of ground infantries backed by dozens of light and heavy armor units attempted to storm the first trenchline. Meanwhile their manta ray-like Phantom dropships flew in to drop their warriors off within the Clay-Antonia itself. Organized machinegun efforts, combined with artillery fire, helped to break the ground effort while rocket teams hidden on the rooftops of the yard's outer buildings regularly stopped the air assaults cold.

At first, attempts by Banshee and Seraph squadrons to bombard the location had to be stopped by UNSC air support. However, airborne threats became less of an issue after a Marine company helped them setup well over twenty M71-Anti Aircraft Guns around the yard's outer limits. Groups of five were installed along the perimeter fences to guard the northern, southern, western and eastern skies. This, in addition to the trenches, helped create an effective surface to air killzone of roughly 200 meters from the perimeter gates. The killzone was gradually transformed into a graveyard of hundreds of dead Covenant, smoldering attack crafts and downed dropships.

All the while the 3,000-local yard-workers continued to load equipment onto outbound cargo ships.

Thankfully, the shipyards had sent off most of its newest harvest of Stalwart, Charon and Paris-class frigates prior to the invasion. Remaining frigates still under construction had their skeletal frames prepared so that larger Navy ships from Battlegroup Indigo could attach to their hardpoints then transport them out of the system. They were presently working at the rate of seven frigates discharged a day. It was relatively fast given the workload. The only question that remained was if it would be fast enough.

Whether the amount of dead had any effect on the Covenant's morale remained to be seen, however, since they continued to send one wave after another regardless of their near total casualty rate.

They had manpower to spare where the ODSTs did not. While the latter had kept their casualties to a minimum, the point remained that they couldn't hold this position forever. There was hearsay among the troopers that the only reason the Covenant hadn't come in-force yet was because they were still busy dealing with the main population centers in the east and west, something the UNSC brass were rumored to have counted on. It would've explained why they were sent to the shipyards first to ensure the safe extraction of naval assets rather than secure the evacuation of Actium's civilians. There was an uneasy feeling that the upper-command was allowing the Covenant to devour the cities in order to buy enough time for Sinoviet' s planetary departure.

For the most part, the worry that eventually the enemy would send greater forces dominated the battalion's attention, and today they were doing just that.

In the evening, word came down from command that another wave was gearing up to attack the Clay-Atonia Shipyards from the north. However, satellite observations had picked up on two Scarabs dispatched from Treviso's southern coast to flank the facility from the southeast.

Garrison, in turn, dispatched Epsilon to deal with the threat in their backyard while the rest of the battalion handled the northern threat. Epsilon was sent along with a squadron of four AV-14 Attack VTOLs better known as Hornets to assist.

There was no chance of using the airborne assault vehicles to hit the quadrupedal walkers head-on. While it wasn't impossible for a squad of ODSTs to take out a Scarab, dealing with two required a stealthier tact. Instead of a frontal attack, the Staff came up with a different idea, one that involved commandeering a number of Spade trucks from the garage of an abandoned farm in the area.

They found the walkers three kilometers southeast of the shipyards and closing. The veiny network of dirt roadways cutting through the dense tropical forestry helped them to outmaneuver and stalk the craft. It was more like playing a game of cat and mouse, as Yuri had put it, only with the roles reversed. Here the mice were the predators and the cats the unwitting prey.

With the help of the Hornets maintaining an observational distance they managed to track the Scarabs' expected route to a mountain pass. The landform curved about for one and a half kilometers before splitting off into two outbranching passes leading to more level ground. The beginning was narrow enough so that the Scarabs would be forced to go one by one. Considering the only other way forward would be to climb a steep mountain range spanning the continent's full width, the pass was the most likely option.

Once the Scarabs crawled inside, it quickly became a game of divide and conquer. The ODSTs drove under the shadows of the enshrouding forests to track them. Eventually the unequal terrain within the pass caused the rear Scarab to fall behind the one in the lead, creating a several hundred-meter gap. The moment the lead walker disappeared down one of the branching passes the ODSTs ambushed the straggler.

Less than a minute after their vehicular assault the craft gave a final bellowing roar before an internal eruption tore it into two ragged halves. With one down, the squad was eager to repeat their little maneuver on its next of kin.

The second Scarab never turned back to see what fiery fate had befallen its brother. It continued on its way out of the pass.

By the time the troopers caught up with the second craft it was already on more level ground, trotting towards the distant shipyards as it stomped its way through the forest below.

Duncan clung to the frame of the truck with his left hand to steady himself while shouldering his SPNKR with his right. His right forefinger twitched over the trigger with its middle neighbor shifting over the safety each time the vehicle bounced over the uneven dirt road. Hector was busy at the wheel, balancing his own launcher between his legs as he drove after the Scarab two hundred meters ahead.

While they could see it through the foliage, the dense tree-cover hid the three advancing Spades from detection. The Staff and Deaks were driving another truck twenty meters further along the same road. Nova and Zack were doing the same on the opposite side of the Scarab's wake.

"Ep-2 to Ep-1, ready when you are." Nova said over comms.

"Copy." The Staff replied. Another ten seconds passed as they started catching up to it.

The window to strike came the moment the assault platform's left foreleg rose from the earth and began arcing forward.

"Now!"

The Staff wheeled his truck off the road and darted out into the Scarab's line of sight, headed straight for where its leg would land. The frontal cannon never got the chance to take notice as the bio-mechanical limb slammed into a Ramón tree, guillotining it uncleanly down the middle. The Staff and Deaks leaped out of the truck a second before it impacted the foreleg's heel, then disappeared in an explosion as the Type 18 Magnetic Bayonet-Style Claymores mounted to the front bumper made contact. The blast consumed the gargantuan limb in a geyser of light and smoke.

On the other side, Nova and Zack leapt out a second before their vehicle crashed into the right foreleg, detonating on impact. The powerful claymore explosions rocked the Scarab to a standstill. Lights flared and sirens resounded a loud warning as the main body began to crouch.

"Here we go!" Hector shouted as he drove the last spade out into the open. They came out behind the descending Scarab and swiveled to a stop in front of its vulnerable troop bay. Duncan tossed two frag grenades into its dark-chrome interior. The twin-explosions cut down the team of Grunts and Jackals inside and sent them sprawling away in sprays of blue blood. "Bay clear."

"Alright," Hector said and pulled himself out of his seat. "Let's move."

The Spade was close enough for them to use the roof to hop into the bay. They quickly headed up the central ramp onto the top of the main body.

The 'head' was still moving, searching the jungle floor for a target. The same could be said for the rear anti-air turret which swiveled from one horizon to the next. In the distance, several Hornets circled about the titan, out of its effective range but ready to fly-in for the expected extraction.

Duncan and Hector locked onto the AA turret and fired off two rockets each. A quartet of explosions battered the frame, smashing away its crest and leaving a contorted husk behind. While green energy still glowed within its cracked depths the weapon looked otherwise neutralized.

They slammed fresh rockets into their launchers and headed down towards one of the observation decks.

"I've got point." Hector said as he took the lead with Duncan close behind. They ran into a Grunt manning the plasma cannon there. Hector bashed in its skull with his launcher before it could so much as yelp. They kept moving towards the rear with only seconds until the Scarab broke out of its current lockdown.

But right before they could turn the corner, something else did. In the brief second between Duncan spotting it and the flash of light that followed, he realized three things. Firstly, that it was a Major judging by its orange armor, secondly, that it was too close for them to use their rockets without killing themselves in the process, and thirdly, that Hector had already fired.

There was a thuck sound of metal penetrating flesh and a fizzle of broken energy shields as the Major was thrown clear of the Scarab. Rather than explode, the projectile had simply impaled the Elite and the force of its velocity sent the corpse spiraling off into the forest below.

Duncan gave Hector a look. He shrugged in reply. "Good thing it was a dud."

Duncan shook his head at the unbelievably close call and moved past. They slipped into the back of the craft. Waiting for them there was their main target: The Scarab's core housed in a small alcove. A circular, blue energy shield stood in their way. The two spread out across the rear platform, getting a safe distance between themselves and the core.

"Go!" Hector said and they shot a unified salvo. The explosive duo punched the shields into a light shade of red.

"Again!"

A second rocket salvo broke the shields and enveloped the device on the other side. All around them the emergency sirens blared with renewed vigor. The smoke cleared to show electrical energy discharging from the damaged core, its light flickering from a passive blue to an angry, pulsating red.

"That did it." The Staff said over comms. "Ep-4, Ep-8 get yourselves out of there, now!"

"On it!" Duncan shouted as the two of them sprinted up the length of the other observation platform. "Ep-4 to Tango-4, you almost there?"

The pilot of the Hornet appeared ahead of them, heading towards them for a quick pick-up. Then a sudden column of emerald fire spewed out at it from the still functional focus cannon, forcing the Hornet to veer off course.

Both ODSTs stopped at the head only to find their Hornet moving away to avoid a trio of AA plasma bolts. They turned on the turret to find it damaged but still operational.

"I thought we took this thing out?" Duncan hissed.

"Guess not." Hector aimed his launcher at the gun and pulled the trigger. It clicked, empty. "Right, I'm dry."

Duncan saw the passageway leading back down to the lower troop bay and was about to suggest they just hop off when a myriad of smaller explosions began popping off across the Scarab. The ramp leading inside was quickly enveloped by a shower of flames and sparks.

The Staff came back on. "What's your situation, Ep-8?"

Duncan was about to respond when a rocket slammed into the focus cannon. He looked back to see another Hornet strafing the Scarab's front with its twin rotary cannons. An ODST clinging to its starboard skid shot their SPANKR, sending another rocket into the focus cannon. The explosive punch broke off more of its metal mandibles and caused its second plasma salvo to come out misshapen. Yet it kept its attention on a second much closer Hornet running decoy.

"Ep-9 to 4 and 8, we'll handle the focus cannon. Deal with that AA so we can get out of here, over?"

"Roger." Duncan said, catching an idea. He dropped his launcher and took a plasma grenade from his belt. Hector didn't even have to look at him to echo his thinking. They both dashed up different sides of the incline leading to the turret. When they were close enough, they primed the grenades and tossed them onto the mouth of the turret. The whining blasts of energy caused its molten opening to fuse together, creating an artificial blockage.

"That's good enough." The pilot, Tango-4 said. They watched him pull in next to the Scarab. As if to test their theory, the turret turned to fire on it, only for the fused opening to block the discharge. The subsequent backup caused the energy to spew through cracks in the gun like a leaking faucet.

Duncan took a running start and leaped aboard the Hornet's starboard skid, then nearly slid off. A hand caught him. The ODST already onboard pulled him in.

Hector jumped next, landing onto the skid and causing the Hornet to dip slightly. Thankfully, it was still able to turn and veer off from the smoking Scarab.

The other Hornets similarly moved away. Seconds later the walker let loose a resounding death cry before being enveloped in a massive burst of blue flames. What was left thereafter fell to the forest floor in a burning heap.

Duncan breathed a sigh of relief at the second close call for the day.

While most Hornets were only able to carry two passengers, one on either skid, the ones they were using now had extended skids long enough to carry a small fireteam. Right now, theirs was carrying two plus Hector who technically counted as a binary by bulk alone. The rest of Epsilon had already gotten aboard the other Hornets as well.

"Good job, Epsilon. That's two more Scarabs to our name." The Staff said. He switched to a frequency that everyone else could hear and contacted the Colonel. His voice came on a second later.

"This is Neptune-Actual, how are we looking back there Ep-1?"

"Neptune's backyard is clear. We've got two smoking Scarabs and a whole lot of enthusiasm back here, sir."

"Copy that. Come back to base and bring that enthusiasm with you. We could sure use it right about now."

"On our way."

At the Staff's order, the Hornets started on a northerly heading. As they did, there was another explosion off to the side of the wreck. It was reddish orange, meaning it was more than likely human ordinance.

"What was that?" Deaks asked.

"Probably just secondaries from the claymores." Nova said.

Rico chuckled to himself. "I mean, killing them twice seems to defeat the point of doing it the first time, doesn't it?"

Duncan stared at the sight of the small explosion. So did Hector. They both could tell that it just so happened to be the right size of a rocket detonation. It could only have been the same one Hector had fired into that Elite.

Duncan stared at him. "Dud, huh?"

Hector shrugged, nervously laughing. "Maybe Zack's right about that Irish luck of yours after all."

Duncan slugged him in the shoulder. He pulled himself down into a seated position on the skid and watched the fiery wreck of the Scarab fall away in the distance.

He glanced up at the ODST standing on his left. While his face was hidden by his visor, the one feature that made him uniquely distinct was the black-shaded handle of the Katana sheathed on his back. A vertical pattern of bloodred diamonds marked the length from the bottom of the handle to the hilt. He'd seen a few troopers with their own unique pieces of gear, like Deaks with Silver Buddha. But it was still difficult to get used to seeing a man with a traditional Japanese sword on his back fighting in a modern war.

His attention fell to the nametag just below his left shoulder pauldron: 'W. Ikimoto.'

"Hey Ep-9." He called.

The other ODST turned to him.

"Thanks for the quick thinking back there."

"Yeah." Hector added, giving him a two-fingered salute. "Thanks Mito."

He gave them the thumbs up. "If things go the way I think they will you might be thanking me like that a lot more often."

Duncan felt he was probably grinning at them behind his visor. He decided to leave him be rather than challenge that claim. The guy was a rookie after all. Since Duncan was still fresh enough to know how he felt upon first coming out here, he couldn't help being a little jealous at how the man, only a year younger and a year less experienced than himself, could be so cool under pressure this soon.

Private Wagatsumo Ikimoto, or simply Mito as everyone preferred, was a rather attentive guy. He was an Earth-boy just like Duncan. Fresh from ODST Training Camp Hideyoshi in Hokkaido, Japan he quickly proved himself to be of the brave sort as well, often quiet although not introverted. He'd managed to beat back Deaks' insults with a few confident one-liners early on and was ready to pounce even when he looked relaxed. Apparently, he preferred to use his sword over his UNSC-issued combat knife. He was rumored by other ODSTs to be a master with it as well, and his post-graduation specialization files suggested the same. With those skills, and with some contestation from Deaks, he was made the squad's official CQC expert and the newest member of Epsilon.

The Squad had officially met the trooper during the stop at the Greydowns to link up with the Cygnus QRF. He'd been aboard their ship from Reach already but they hadn't gotten to meet him until then. That was due to the exchange of personnel between ships which led the Staff to check their squad registry and find out that they had a new, ninth member. As it so happened, upon their return Colonel Garrison decided to personally assign one of the newest batch of rookies sent from Sol to their squad, then forgot to tell them about it. They managed to track Mito down by asking around for him. Even he wasn't sure where'd been assigned and was hanging with elements of Alpha Company in the mess hall when they found him.

He was doing good, so far at least. But Duncan wondered when or if he would crack, and if the squad had already started a pool on his survival odds.

Mito slipped off his helmet to let the wind blow through his lowcut, jet-black hair which flew about in the turbulence. His East Asian features became more evident in his slightly epicanthic eyes with high cheekbones and a few faint scars on his face. He looked relaxed.

Duncan decided to take a note from him and do the same. He watched the forest zip past far below his boots, quietly enjoying the momentary peace that he knew would undoubtedly evaporate the moment they got back to the shipyards.

Feles et Mus – Cat and Mouse


	40. Battle of Actium - Chapter 2 (Sodales Novum)

Chapter 2 - Sodales Novum

May 7th, 2545 (17:15 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

Commonwealth of Pavia, Continent of Treviso

Clay-Antonia Shipyards

:********:

Colonel Garrison made good use of Dockmaster Building-9 granted to him by the Clay-Antonia's officials. Its square, 30 by 30 conference room gave him enough space to fit the several holotanks he needed to form an ad hoc command center. At least a dozen tech-personnel from Alpha and Delta Companies were present, utilizing portable computers and holotank displays to manage the tactical readouts on the ground along with the corresponding requests from the men and women fighting there.

The Colonel used a raised, three-step dais at the center of the room with a Strategic Planner platform the relative size of an air hockey table. On it was the holographic image of the entire location. Topographical markings indicated the size of the several encompassing hills that rolled down into the flatlands on which the Clay-Antonia was built. The shipyards occupied 20 square kilometers of space; its outer boundaries marked with three perimeter fences. The concrete foundation marked the point where the tropical forests gave way to corporate offices, component specialization factories and dockmaster buildings.

The Clay-Antonia's major facilities included 30 drydocks the size of small canyons that divvied up the yard's interior into five hexagonal sections of 6 docks each. The docks themselves ranged in size given whether they were intended for construction of Carriers, Cruisers, Destroyers, Frigates or Corvettes. The larger the ship, the larger the dock. Specialized cranes lined their frames along with maintenance and armament warehouses and painting facilities. At the center of everything were the six dome-shaped buildings where the ships' individual engine components and slipspace drives were constructed.

Under any other condition, the docks would've been occupied with at least 10 ships undergoing repairs and twice as many being constructed for the war effort. At the same time, the local legion of dockworkers would number in their usual 20,000 strong. Hundreds of construction and maintenance crews worked around the clock on these ships of the line while thousands more pencil pushers handled the paperwork in the corporate buildings.

At the moment, however, the entire installation was operating on a skeleton crew of 3,000 due to evacuation protocols. Only one ship still remained, parked in Drydock CR-5. Once it and the remaining workers aboard were safely shipped off then the 7th would be free to leave for its newest objective, one Garrison considered of even greater importance than defending the Clay-Antonia.

UNSC Command on the planet had been in a continual state of upheaval. On May 5th, less than a day after their arrival, the man in charge of the relief forces, Army Brigadier General Lenz was assassinated. His convoy had been heading to a JSOC base-camp setup in the northwestern Isles of Scilly when it was ambushed by an as of yet unidentified Covenant special forces group. It seemed as though the grim reaper himself was stalking the leaders of the UNSC Command Echelon as each new officer subsequently appointed to lead was assassinated hours later. The leadership was left in shambles after four commanders were mysteriously found impaled, shot dead or blown up from plasma-based ordinance. For the last two days UNSC forces across Actium contended with operating as autonomous sub cells mostly keeping to their original assignments.

That period of autonomy had come to an end yesterday evening when a man Garrison knew was given command of UNSC contingents on the planet.

Colonel Akono Mentieth of the 53rd Armored Division found himself with the reigns of power quite suddenly. In Garrison's opinion he was the best choice for the job. After the Battle of Miridem, the 53rd Armored was regarrisoned on Actium, its ranks of 12,000 strong adding to the planet's corps of defenders. Both Mentieth and his division were running training simulations on the continent of Treviso when the first Covenant fleet arrived on Aquilla's outer fringes. Since then they'd taken up defensive positions on and within the island-continent's capital of New Verona. It likewise put Mentieth in the best position to be given the reigns of the whole operation. While he had struck Garrison as somewhat overly cautious back on Miridem, he knew the man had to have grown ballsier in the last few months if he willingly accepted the overall mantle of command, especially given the grim life expectancy of those that came before.

Earlier in the day he called on all available UNSC elements in Treviso to attend a mass-debriefing in New Verona regarding an upcoming operation. If it meant he didn't have to sit here waiting for the Covenant to make their next move then Garrison was all for it, because the current situation was already untenable.

The battalion had taken some 50+ casualties since their initial landing. It wasn't a bad trade off given how they had exacted forty times as many casualties on the Covenant. The problem was the fact that the latter kept coming, day and night seemingly without end. The Alpha, Delta and Echo Company Commanders were forced to keep their platoons on morning, evening and night rotations in the trenches to keep the ODSTs from becoming too exhausted. Garrison did the same with Bravo to prevent a gradual erosion in morale.

After today's most recent onslaught had been repelled, the troopers were more than ready to ditch the yards. Alpha and Bravo Company had held their ground on the Northern and Southern trenches. Delta lost two of its M71 AA Guns on the West to plasma charges from Seraphs. Echo had fared the worst on the Eastern approach after its first line of trenches were breached by a flank of Elites led by a fervent Major. Thankfully, a quick-thinking Lieutenant had called in a few Longswords to airstrike the enemy forces before they pushed too far in. Some ASGMs and napalm stopped the incursion cold and left a swath of forest afire.

The next wave was expected within an hour. But the battalion would be gone long before then. The Colonel had already contacted the commander of the 24th Air Reconnaissance Group requesting an exfil for the ODSTs in coordination with the last ship being taken off-world. He'd spent the last five minutes informing the Alpha and Delta Company COs of the executive landing pads designated for their platoons. Echo's CO was also taking in the new information quickly enough.

"Understood sir, I'll get my people in place. We'll leave our M71s online to give us some cover."

"Roger that." Garrison said on his personal comms. "And set them to both air and ground-based targeting. It'll buy us some time."

"Copy. When's that last ship getting here for the pick-up, sir?"

"Twenty minutes. Think you can manage?"

"Yessir. I'll leave some explosive surprises for the new house guests. Mars-Actual out."

The Colonel took the momentary reprieve to look out the room's windows as shadows passed by. A squadron of four bulky, D96-TCE Albatrosses swooped in over the building. The craft were modular troop carriers with four engines attached diagonally to a main body big enough to carry 45 to 50 personnel at a time. He watched them split up to head to different landing pads across the shipyards. As a few dozen more descended through the atmosphere he surmised that it would be enough to move the nearly 1,000 ODSTs of the 7th Battalion in a single flight. He whispered a quiet "thanks" to the commander of the 24th Air Recon for arriving earlier than he'd expected.

As the large dropships flew past their shadows blinded him to the approach of a single ODST. He didn't notice her until she'd already stopped on the other side of the dais. When he finally did, she raised a hand to her helmet and saluted. "You asked for me, Colonel?"

Garrison looked her over, eyeing the biofoam injector on her thigh bracer. "You know why I have you here, yes?"

The trooper stood at ease. "I believe it relates to my upcoming deployment?"

"That's your guess?"

"Best one I have, sir."

"Well, it's spot-on." Garrison folded his arms across his chest, sighing at what was going to be an interestingly short rundown. "You're already aware of your impending assignment. However, I wanted to issue you a fair warning personally before you joined your new team. It's your first one, is that right?"

"I'm still green sir." The trooper admitted.

Garrison nodded. "That's about to change, I just hope for the better."

He noticed how the soldier's stance slackened slightly, perhaps from confusion. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"No, but it can go wrong depending on how you manage what I'm about to tell you."

The trooper stayed quiet but listened attentively.

"The platoon that you're about to join is one of my best, both in Bravo and the battalion. But they've been through a lot." He paused to remember the faces of the ODSTs that no longer were. "Two of their three squads were completely wiped out back on Miridem. They also lost their commanding officer. As you can imagine, they're down in strength. I've already assigned another fresh new face to the last squad to buff up their numbers, but due to personnel distribution constraints they won't be back up to a full platoon for who knows how long. You're the last new face I'll be assigning to them for some time. They'll be relying on you to put your best foot forward whenever they're called into the fray, more so than in any other platoon. Do you think you can manage that or do you want me to put you in a different squad?"

The trooper considered it for a moment. "But sir, why not simply reassign them to a new platoon if they're understrength?"

"Because its inconvenient, for me at least." The Colonel said, shrugging. "While the entire battalion is an able fighting force, I often rely on this platoon for more specialized purposes. Reassigning them would make it harder to send them out for more out-of-the-way jobs that I need done."

She considered it. "I…think I understand. But why ask me? Isn't my assignment ultimately your decision?"

"It is." Garrison said. "However, I selected you because I believe your particular skillset makes you the best for the job. That said I do want this to be your decision simply because of potential problems that could arise regarding your…career history."

The ODST seemed to stiffen. Then with a breath she stood a little straighter. "I didn't think my past service would prove to be a problem sir, at least not right away."

Garrison leaned back on the table to examine the three-dimensional holographic portrayals of Albatrosses descending on pads across the shipyards. "During the last day of fighting on Miridem, they were responsible for taking out two Tyrant AA Guns, allowing hundreds of thousands to escape the planet's destruction. They're heroes for it in my book." He looked up at her. "However, in doing so they also assaulted a commanding officer, someone with affiliations similar to yours. That action led to them being imprisoned then disappearing up until a week ago. I was ordered by my superiors to list them as MIA until their recent return from God only knows where doing God knows what. I can only guess since they're no longer being charged with crimes that they worked for the very same people they spited earlier in exchange for their freedom." He paused to gauge the trooper's reaction.

Although he couldn't see her face past her visor her body language spoke volumes. She was definitely a lot stiffer now, perhaps even worried.

He continued. "I don't know what happened to them in that time. I doubt I'll ever want to know either. What I do want to know is if you can manage to work with them given your career history could possibly start some bad blood…if they find out."

"If." She said. Her one-word reply made the Colonel scrutinize her closer.

"Can I count on you to use wisdom regarding what you disclose about yourself, or would you rather an easier assignment?"

She said nothing for several long seconds. Then, with a deep exhale, she relaxed. "I can manage with the first option, sir. I'll stay on a need to know basis."

"And if they need to know?"

"Then I'll tell them and let the chips fall where they may. I knew what I was asking for when I transferred, sir. I can take whatever comes."

Garrison quietly marveled at her. She seemed more like the quiet type but she certainly had a strong enough will not to back down from a challenge. It was admirable, and also necessary.

"So, do I make the team sir?" She asked with a little intimation of a kid joining a football league.

The Colonel smiled at her and nodded. "Get your gear and link-up with them at the Alexander Building. You'll be leaving from Pad 3."

The ODST saluted and walked off the dais. She stopped halfway to the doors that she'd come in through and turned back. "Do you always interview your troopers, sir, or is it only for when it's your favorite team?"

"I have no favorites." Garrison said over the murmur of the work going on around him. "Just top-performers."

"Understood sir."

He watched her leave through the doors which slid shut behind her. He smirked. "Alright Staff, I've sent you another one. Make them last."

:********:

Epsilon made its way along the side of the Cruiser Drydocks off in the northwestern sector of the shipyards. While most of the docks were empty, the last one off to their immediate right held a single towering occupant whose girth cast them in its shadow. The Marathon-Class Heavy Cruiser UNSC Canberra was a goliath in the making. Being the more advanced version of its Halcyon-class predecessor, the Marathon-class had the same appearance of a reversed M6 pistol without the handle. Its hulking dimensions and concentric rings of fortified compartments were imposing but not fully in place. The skeletal framework still showed in patches of the ship where it was under construction, or at least had been up until the last several hours.

From what he'd overheard from a few troopers, the Sinoviet Subdivisional CEOs had the local construction crews working overnight to prepare what parts of the 1.2-kilometer-long ship they could for conditions in space. They were also to use it for their own evacuation. The goal at the moment was to secure the outer bulkhead wherever possible with Titanium-A battle plates. Even patchy slabs of stainless steel the size of Pelicans had been welded over some holes to save time. On any other occasion the Canberra would've been given another two months before being deemed space worthy. For now, it would have to do, at least until it could be transported somewhere else to finish construction.

As they passed along its length to another drydock Duncan stopped without realizing to look at the next empty furrow. The tram-sized security rails guarding the sides and bottom of the dock were bare, with whatever ship that was there last having already departed. But if he wasn't mistaken, or the word of mouth he'd heard from some of the dockworkers wasn't mistaken, then he was actually looking at the same drydock where the Valiant-class super-heavy cruiser UNSC Everest had been constructed. The Everest was a celebrity ship, most well known as the flagship of Admiral Preston Cole's fleets, including the one he'd led at Psi Serpentis. It was Cole's personal ship. 'The Chariot of a King', or so he'd quietly thought to himself.

The idea alone was enough to make him blank out in awe as he stood near the precipice of the 200-meter deep gully. There was that feeling again. He felt it wash over him, like the first time he'd come to Reach: the sense of entering the throne room of giants.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked back to see Yuri, helmetless, staring at him with a worried look. "You are okay buddy?"

Duncan finally realized how close he actually was to the edge. He quickly back-pedaled to safety.

"What was that about?" Yuri asked, arching a brow at him.

"Nothing, I- ugh, um."

"You're not going suicidal, are you?"

Duncan gave an honest laugh. "Nah, Matchstick. Its not like that."

Yuri looked slightly relieved. "Good, cause rest of squad is waiting."

They both turned back to see Epsilon watching them, mostly Duncan. "You trying to jump without a pod, trooper?" The Staff asked. "Because I wouldn't advise it."

Duncan held up his hands in his own defense. "No sir, that's not- why does everyone think I'm so on edge?"

"Because you were on the edge just a second ago." Nova laughed. "Try to pay attention before we leave you behind, would you?"

"Fine."

Duncan and Yuri joined the rest of them in a brisk walk down the length of the dock. Other ODST squads were doing the same beside them, some jogging along. They were all headed to the same place: The Alexander Building. The twenty-story tall building up ahead served as the center for the Board of Commissions for the entire location. There, the progress of ship construction as well as demands for new vessels by company clientele, mainly the UNSC, were processed and given clearance by individual review boards. The ODSTs' destination was on top of the twentieth floor, Executive Landing Pad 3. Duncan could see two Albatrosses hovering in the airspace around the pad while another one was taking up occupancy. There was already a crowd of around a hundred troopers waiting for entry at the several revolving doors on the ground floor.

The line moved quickly enough as they entered several squads at a time to avoid any overflow on the lobby elevators. A similar sight was taking place across the Clay-Antonia as the battalion moved to evacuate the shipyards.

Duncan noticed a single female trooper standing at the door. She wasn't making any moves to go inside but instead seemed focused on the passing crowd. Her helmet was nestled in the crux of her arm, exposing her face's olive skin, brown eyes and dark hair cut to ear-length with a few minute, blonde streaks. She looked vaguely familiar, so much so that he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen her somewhere before. The ODST went from one squad to the next asking questions. Whatever their answers were they obviously weren't the ones she was looking for since she kept moving to the next.

She eventually came to the squad right in front of them to ask the leader a question. Gunnery Sergeant Singh pointed his thumb back at Epsilon.

The trooper looked at them, took in a deep breath and strode over. She came to a stop next to the Staff, probably figuring out his rank by his red accents. "Excuse me, sir. Are you Staff Sergeant Atell?"

"Yeah." The Staff said, giving her a quick look over, spotting the biofoam injector on her thigh bracer. "And who might you be, trooper?"

Her face beamed with relief at having found the answer she was looking for. She saluted. "Private Renni Mahonis, sir. I've been assigned to Epsilon by the Colonel. He said for me to join up with you before you left."

The shock lasted only a moment. In that brief second, Duncan was able to glance at everyone else' faces and felt more comfortable knowing they were just as wide-eyed as he was.

Deaks grinned. "It just gets better and better around here, doesn't it?"

Nova elbowed him hard in the gut for his sarcasm but he kept laughing as he wheezed from the blow. "What? I'm not wrong. First Mito, now…what was it again?"

"Renni." She said. "Renni Mahonis. I guess I'm your new medic."

"We never had a medic before." Hector said in thought. "Sure beats having Nova touch our scabs like she knows what she's doing." He recoiled as Nova elbowed him hard in the gut. "What, what'd I say?"

Nova was the first to step up to her and offered her a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Renni briefly observed the gesture with the appearance of someone that was slowly realizing the world around them wasn't a dream. She took her hand and shook with an earnest excitement. "Thank you, it's great to meet you guys as well."

The Staff's visor depolarized as he fixed her with a scrutinizing glare, one that made the private momentarily deflate into obvious worry. He put a hand to his helmet, indicating he was talking with someone on a private channel, likely the Colonel. After a tense silence he signed off and pointed to the injector. "You any good with that thing?"

"I have the necessary training sir." Renni assured. "I specialized as a combat medic back at Camp Lincoln."

The Staff's face gradually melted into one that was still scrutinizing but far more welcoming. He offered his own hand. "Welcome to the team, Ep-10."

Her smile came back with renewed confidence as she shook it.

The Staff pointed to everyone else in turn who depolarized their visors. He quickly ran through the chronological introductions for the sake of time then changed their focus back to the doors. They were the last ones to get called in. They entered the ground floor lobby, crossed over the velvet carpeting to the elevators on the far side and went up.

"Basically, keep a close eye on Matchstick. He's the most prone out of everyone here to get himself half-killed so he'll probably be your first patient." The Staff said.

"That is not true." Yuri protested. "I am very cautious man."

"Cautious enough to get yourself spiked back on Miridem." The Staff said drily. "Cautious enough to have to get pieces of lung flash-cloned to replace the damaged parts and take Rumbledrugs just to get back up to snuff." His attention landed hard on the man. "I think I've made my point, don't you?"

Renni examined the Russian out the corner of her eye. He seemed to glare back at the Staff with a resigned uncaringness. "Rumbledrugs?" She asked curiously.

Yuri's gaze shifted to her. "Yeah. But I'm no druggee so don't go off making grand assumptions about me."

"Uhuh…understood sir. I'll keep a close watch on him."

Yuri sighed.

"It's for the best." The Staff said.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. They walked out onto the rooftop where several other squads were also loading up into the wide troop bay of the last Albatross. They could see others on distant landing pads making their way onto the dropships while those that were already full took off towards the east.

Suddenly the wailing of emergency sirens echoed across the Clay Antonia. A female voice came in over the facility's PA systems. "All personnel be advised, UNSC Marathon-class heavy cruiser inbound. Expect shipyard-wide tropospheric disturbance in thirty seconds." The voice repeated itself two more times then let the sirens continue.

"Look!" Zack pointed up, drawing their attention skyward.

A silhouette was on its way down through the atmosphere, becoming larger until it burst through an overhanging cloud like a bullet through water. The breached clouds flowed away to reveal the figure of a Marathon-class ship plunging through the atmosphere at break-neck speeds. It arced up from its downward vector as it headed straight for the Clay-Antonia, straight for them.

Someone shouted. "Get down!"

Across the landing platform the troopers quickly crouched down and braced.

The cruiser was slowing down but zoomed less than two-hundred meters overhead. The wake turbulence of the massive craft was felt almost immediately, whipping the Alexander Building with a tsunami of air that crashed over the top and jostled everyone on it. The wind continued to flood throughout the rest of the shipyards as the vessel banked right and slowed. After ten seconds it managed to bring itself to a halt. Then the goliath ship proceeded towards the airspace above its sister, the Canberra. Once it was directly over it the ship turned 180 degrees to match the westward facing craft. Then it began to descend.

As it did Duncan caught sight of the name on the side of the model-black cruiser: 'Feeling Lucky'. It was apt, mostly because he genuinely felt lucky that that turbulence hadn't picked him up and thrown him clear of the building. Everyone stood up to watch as the UNSC Feeling Lucky descended on the top of the Canberra's hull. The sound of multiple metallic clangs echoed from what was undoubtedly the second Marathon connecting with the hardpoints of the one directly below. Secondary sounds resounded from the dock's security rails as they released their charge.

Then the Feeling Lucky began rising back up, bringing the Canberra with it. It wasn't lifting alone however as the four pairs of R7 thrust couplings mounted to hardpoints on the latter's hull activated. The release from the couplings filled the encompassing dock with light and smoke while slowly lifting the craft upwards. The whine of engines filled the air.

"Come on, keep moving!" Someone said. The attention of the remaining ODSTs shifted back to the Albatross. The squad joined the others in loading up into the crowded troop bay. The doors slid shut behind them and the dropship ascended from the pad, lurching forward on an eastward flightpath.

A number of porthole windows in the sliding doors allowed them to see the other dropships rising up from the shipyards in their wake. And behind them was the awe-inspiring sight of two Marathon cruisers slowly rising into the air. They soon got high enough that the Feeling Lucky turned skyward at an acute angle. Then the two ships were ascending up through the atmosphere, eventually disappearing from sight along with the Clay-Antonia Shipyards.

Duncan quietly wondered if that was what the UNSC Everest looked like when it was being sent out on its maiden voyage. Though he'd been too young to see the real deal, he felt lucky enough and even thankful enough now to have seen where one of the greatest legends of the UNSC Navy began, and what it might've looked like way back when.

:********:

New Verona was a city 23 kilometers to the east of the Clay Antonia. It was nestled in the center of a circular mountain range that looked more like the crater of an ancient asteroid the size of Manhattan. The manner in which the surrounding mountains rose steeply away from the center gave further credence to the idea.

A 50-meter-deep body of water known as the Strait of Per Ciridium separated Treviso from the comparatively larger eastern continent of Pavia, the latter being where most of Actium's eastern population lived. The strait had been incidentally widened due to a series of dredging campaigns undertaken by the government of Pavia to expand the greater continent's coastal cities. The affect hadn't been felt by the few scattered cays left around the area. Having spotted them on the way over, they reminded Duncan of when he'd seen the Caribbean Sea from Nassau Station.

The city of New Verona itself acted as a hub for the development for the largely uninhabited northeastern continent. The ten other towns scattered around Treviso usually had their populations come from the mainland using New Verona as a transit point.

Massive skyscrapers filled the inner city, mirroring a similar style of Art-Deco that he'd seen in New Memphis. However, the architecture here echoed more Italian Baroque influences with curvaceous buildings, rich surface treatments and twisted elements while technological touch-ups indicative of the era made it look modern. The mountainous terrain made it so that the buildings all rose up and down in a kind of unmoving sea.

The city was for the most part deserted save for the swaths of UNSC personnel congregated in the interior. Tanks and Hogs from the 53rd drove down the abandoned streets and highways on patrols of the area. Marines joined them in scanning for any civilians left behind by the city's evacuation efforts.

The bulk of present interest in the city was centered on the Coroebus Stadium. The structure rested on the crest of a large hill near New Verona's heart. On any other occasion the hundreds of rows of step-like seats lining the ovular interior would've been occupied by thousands of eager onlookers. Just as well, the hybrid field below would've been the sight of teams going head to head in baseball, soccer or gravball. But today only that first part was true.

Thousands of Marines, Armored personnel, pilots and ODSTs lined the extensive bleachers the whole way around. The air was filled with all manner of conversation under the blue light of the Solar Evening as they waited for the general meeting to start.

Duncan found his attention drawn to the starry night sky visible past the scant cloud-cover. Of all the glimmering celestial bodies, Euryale-1 stood out the most in the absence of Aquilla. The former was a single, silver-blue dot the size of a penny. Two thin jets of particles from the magnetic poles produced powerful beams of light that glowed from the star. While its form 'pulsed' in intensity due to its inherently fast rotation, making it more like an astronautical lighthouse than a star, the light it emitted onto Actium remained stable. It was a lot like looking at the sun. He couldn't risk gazing for too long before it started to hurt his eyes and left its imprint on his retinas.

He blinked them away as he listened to Nova and the squad's newest addition talking on the lower seats in front of him. So far, Renni seemed to be integrating well into the squad. The two women of Epsilon were discussing the differences and similarities between engineering and biomedical work, between patching up a wounded hog versus doing the same with a wounded Marine. Nova seemed to be actually convincing the medic that a blowtorch was just as good as a scalpel given the right patient. Since that discussion scared him more than anything, he switched to the conversation between Deaks and Mito on his left. The two had found common ground in the fact that they were both blade enthusiasts.

The Corporal handed over Silver Buddha for Mito to inspect. The latter traced his gloved finger over its sharp edge until he reached the tip, whistling with respect. "Nice piece. You could practically take off someone's hand with a good swing."

"I only deal with teeth." Deaks shrugged as he retook Silver Buddha and gestured to the katana. "Can I?"

Mito looked back at his sword with a hint of concern. "Ah, about that. It's something of a family heirloom…"

"So only someone in the family can touch it?"

"Not necessarily. It's just that not everyone knows how to wield her properly."

"Her?"

Mito reached over his shoulder and carefully unsheathed the blade, earning a few wary glances from some Marines sitting behind him. He drew it forward in a graceful arc, bringing it to bare in front of him.

Duncan marveled at the way the blue evening light contrasted against the blade's bloodred sheen, reflecting down its length like a drip of water.

Deaks whistled. "Niiice. Does she have a name?"

"The Yamamoto Aka." Mito said with Zenlike focus. "It's been a prized possession of my family for generations, and I'm its most recent retainer." He sheathed the blade in a single deft motion before Deaks' outstretched hands could reach it. The sniper looked miffed.

"So you pull out a hot piece like that then decide to keep it all to yourself? That's pretty selfish man."

"If you mean selfish in terms of self-preservation then yes."

Deaks pointed his cleaver at him. "Mark my words. I'll use that sword one day, even if I have to cut it off of you."

They stared the other down, then broke out into laughter.

"Tell you what. If we actually end up winning on Actium then I'll let you try it out. How's that?"

"Is that a wager I'm smelling?"

"It is."

Deaks' eyes narrowed to slits as he extended his hand. "Then I think you have yourself a deal, Mr. Ikimoto."

"Those are some long odds." Mito warned as he shook his hand. "You sure?"

"I'll take them. I win all my wagers anyway."

Duncan jumped in. "Um, are you sure about that, because 2544 passed and I'm still around."

Deaks closed his eyes in annoyance. "I'm ignoring you Irish."

Duncan was about to set him straight when all the floodlights across the stadium suddenly dimmed. At once, image projectors on either sight of the Coroebus turned on to generate the rotating insignia of the United Nations Space Command.

The gathering went quiet.

A single floodlight flicked on, focused on a lone figure walking towards a platform at the center of the field. He stopped atop the platform to face the encircling crowds. His face appeared on two separate screens to either side of the stadium. He was a dark-skinned man wearing an army officer's BDU and wore an expression that suggested he had much to say and little time to say it. His voice boomed over the PA, gentle but firm.

"To all UNSC personnel under the sound of my voice, heed and stand to. I am Colonel Akono Mentieth of the 53rd Armored. I thank you for your service thus far in defending Actium against the Covenant. With your help we've been able to extract assets needed to continue our war effort in the inner colonies." He stopped, his stance straightening as his face turned stony. "However, I haven't brought you all here just to pat you on the back. I'm also here to push you, perhaps many of you beyond what you're used to. Before now the basic strategy of humanity has been to fight and retreat, fight again and retreat again. We've done little but stave off an inevitable darkness with no real hope of winning, or of holding our homes once they are discovered by our enemy. That must change. No matter your opinions on it, come tomorrow morning, that will change."

At his last word, the projected UNSC insignia morphed and contorted into many new shapes. Duncan tried keeping track of the new picture being created.

Mountains, skyscrapers and a sea all came together to form the image of a city on a coast. Even without the scale it was obviously massive. It was hemmed in by mountains yet the impressive number of buildings still rose up the corralling mountainsides to spill over onto the flatter and higher terrain beyond. The urban jungle flowed back down in the other direction before stopping at the expansive mouth of a wide bay, a dip in the otherwise wavy coastline. Multiple highway-bridges extended out from the coast to an archipelago of smaller, settled islands standing guard between the outer bay and the Strait of Per Ciridium.

"This is the city of High Mediolanum." Mentieth said. "It is the capital of the Republic of Pavia and key to our efforts to recapture the continent along with the rest of the eastern hemisphere."

A collective murmur rose among the crowds. Even Duncan couldn't help adding to the buzz as he whispered to no one in particular. "Is he serious?"

Almost as a reply, the map flipped to a two-dimensional view of the terrain. The city was segmented off into three distinct sections, each section large enough to be its own city.

"The plan is estimated to take two days to carry out. It will require the strongest efforts of everyone here to accomplish."

On the map, the three dividing walls were highlighted in green. "These are Mediolanum's Three Premier Walls. They separate the city into three distinct sections including the 1st Tier known as the Coastal District, the 2nd Tier known as the Residential District and the 3rd Tier where we'll find the Scenic District known as High Orarum." The city-sections were highlighted in a brighter shade of green in turn, then special emphasis was placed on the first two districts with a light red.

"At 0700 Hours, ODSTs of the 7th and 22nd Shock Troops Battalions will land in the Coastal and Residential Districts. Helljumpers, you're objectives will be three-pronged. First, to secure the gates of the first two Premier Walls. Second, to neutralize any and all hostile AA units encountered as well as Covenant defenses present within your designated target areas. Third, to regroup with and support surviving elements of the 4th Marine Division. With the gates secured and hostile anti-aircraft units eliminated, battlegroup Indigo will be able to move in to deploy additional ground forces to the surface in order to bolster our hold on the city. This includes Marines as well as my own Armored Division. We will start consolidating territory from the coast and work our way up through the Scenic District to the 3rd Premiere Wall." The last wall highlighted a bright green. "That is our goal post. Once we take it, the city will be ours."

Mentieth stopped to let his words settle on the crowds. The scores of men and women were deathly quiet now but watched his every move and listened to his every syllable with a felt intentness.

"Know this, we will not be the only forces actively at work."

The map zoomed out to show the entre spherical circumference of the planet. Five yellow dots appeared on the western coastline of the continent of Pavia. Across the Koronea Sea, seven more appeared along the eastern seaboard of the largest western continent, Preveza.

"All available UNSC forces will assist in the invasion of Pavia and Preveza in a simultaneous counteroffensive from both the ground and in orbit. We'll be targeting cities such as High Mediolanum, New Eretria and High Estonia in the east as well as New Athens, Patras and Actium's Capital of Caerleon in the west. This will be a shock operation of planetary proportions, but its success or failure ultimately hinges on your individual actions. If we pull this off, we will be adding one more world to a list of seeming impossibilities like Arcadia."

The holograph then disappeared as the projectors winked off and the floodlights turned back on. Mentieth stopped to observe the sea of faces whose expressions ranged from disbelief, worry, confusion and fear to determination, vengeful anger, resolve and silent agreement.

"I have already debriefed your Commanding Officers and they will in turn debrief you later on the specific objectives and expectations of your individual units. We will depart from New Verona at 0500 Hours. Understand this here and now, everyone. The mission on which we are about to embark will save many lives. For that cause we will put our lives and those of loved ones we wish to see again on the line."

He held his hands out in an explaining gesture. "This…is a gamble, perhaps the biggest since Admiral Cole's actions at Psi Serpentis. But we know what just one man can do with a well-placed nuke. We also know what a soldier can do with a well-placed bullet. Fleet Admiral Hood said such words before. Now I am saying them to you. I am asking you to show that they are not hollow platitudes meant to sooth the ears of the masses, but that there is some truth behind the words which we've all heard and, perhaps, come to believe."

Mentieth clasped his hands behind his back, nodding to the silent crowds. "That is all. You are dismissed." With that the Colonel turned, walked off the platform and never looked back at the frozen faces of the silent crowds surrounding him.

Duncan watched him disappear through an exit in the stadium's inner wall that slid shut behind him. In the uproar and discussions that arose immediately afterwards, he felt the weight of the reasonings and arguments going on all around him, and of all the times that he could speak and make his opinion on the matter known, at that moment his mind went blank.

Sodales Novum - New Members


	41. Battle of Actium - Chapter 3 (Calidum Portum)

Chapter 3 - Calidum Portum

May 8th, 2545 (06:55 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

Over High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

:********:

Who'd ever heard of a mass counteroffensive being announced one day then launched the very next?

The Staff had been the voice of reason on that, explaining that they simply didn't have time to wait and extensively plan, that they had to move quickly before the Covenant started glassing.

Still, it was much to swallow in one night.

The Colonel assembled the 7th Battalion outside the Coroebus Stadium shortly after the general meeting to break down the goals of each company the moment they hit the ground. The objective was straightforward: they would capture High Mediolanum's 1st Premiere Wall and neutralize any Tyrant AAs thereafter, of which satellite reconnaissance revealed the presence of 12 within the Coastal District.

While their sister battalion, the 22nd handled the Residential District, the 7th would land in the Coastal. The coastline was their best option since the high urban density within the adjacent area would hinder their efforts to regroup and make them easier targets for local Covenant forces. The beaches were divided up into four different sectors each tasked to a single company. The Lavender Sector, named after the beach like the others, would be Bravo's drop-zone.

As the Task Force left New Verona with Battlegroup Indigo and crossed southward over the Strait of Per Ciridium, Duncan spent the time meditating on the steps. Step 1: Get off the beach. Step 2: Secure the Eluciana Hotel located there as an advanced operating post. Step 3: Push further east to the 1st Premiere Wall. Step 4: Secure the wall's transportation gatehouse as well as the lower and upper terminal leading to the 2nd Tier.

Run. Take the hotel. Run again. Take the wall.

His meditation continued even as his pod began turning in the launch tube.

Battlegroup Indigo's forward elements had managed to descend into the Stratosphere. Eight Paris-Class heavy frigates comprised the advance force dropping the ODSTs onto High Mediolanum, four dropping the 7th and another four moving a few kilometers east to drop the 22nd. They were initially expecting a fight on the way in but then discovered no major Covenant naval forces in the area, an easing but also uneasing fact. Their absence would at the very least make the drop smoother. But the question remained. If they weren't here then, where were they?

As the drop bay of the UNSC Thermopylae opened, Duncan felt his hand reach impulsively for the MA37 nestled in the weapon rack. The absent Covenant ships were the least of his worries. What really worried him was the fireworks show of plasma AA currently crisscrossing the airways above High Mediolanum.

The element of surprise had obviously been lost before they had even arrived. Perfect.

"That's a nice view." The Colonel remarked over Bravo's comms. "What do you think, troopers?"

Several ballsy ODSTs sounded off their 'appreciation' of the view.

"This is about as close to a vacation spot as we're gonna get, isn't it?"

"Shut it Hotel-7. As far as I can tell we're landing in luxury."

"Sun, sand and sea sounds good to me."

"Sounds like a good place to die too."

"Drop on my mark." Garrison said. "Remember, we get off the beach and hit the Eluciana's plaza. From there to the wall."

The ODSTs of Bravo Company flashed their HUDs' acknowledgement lights.

"…Mark, punch it!"

Garrison's pod went first, taking the lead as always. Bravo rocketed after him in a cascade of high velocity dispersals. The other companies followed in jettisoning from their ships. Further east, the 22nd Battalion were doing the same.

In less than a few seconds the stratosphere above the city was filled with over 2,000 HEVs. Their large number made focusing on any individual pod nearly impossible. They grouped together in clusters or streaked solo across the sky, then were joined by scores of others flying at similar velocities. There were a few A-list drop artists willing to risk a little more speed to overtake the rest of the group, Yuri predictably being among them.

To Duncan, this was the real view. Even back during the trainings on Onyx, the Beta Company LRSOIPs never exceeded 300. Now he was looking at well over six times that many pods all in a single drop. They looked seemingly suspended in mid-air over a surface area that was getting closer and more defined with each second and kilometer passed.

Since they had bypassed the mesosphere entirely, the drop was turning out to be a lot smoother than normal. The usual atmospheric burn midway into the journey instead came as a small wash of flickering flame over their viewports rather than an all-consuming curtain of hell. This way they were able to see what was coming.

After bursting through a fading layer of stratocumulus clouds, Duncan got a good picture of the area.

The city was even more massive than he'd imagined. Given that he knew the holographic portrayal wouldn't do it any justice, he still wasn't quite ready for the scale.

Each one of the three individual tiers of High Mediolanum was a city in its own right. The 'districts' were more like urban mazes of buildings. Although most of the skyscrapers were located in the Scenic District, there were some pretty sizable structures in both the Residential and Coastal Districts, notably the myriad of hotels that dominated the latter. A number of marinas with seaworthy recreational craft dotted the length of the 34-kilometer long bay in front of the first tier. At least a dozen pairs of kilometer-long causeways allowed for back and forth travel between the city and the islands of the Gulam archipelago lying outside the mouth of the bay.

Then there were the three Premiere Walls. Standing around 100 meters tall, they divided the city into three giant terraces, giving it its unique appearance of mother nature's attempt at making a staircase the size of several municipalities.

With the addition of the encircling mountains, the city reminded him of images of Rio de Janeiro that he'd seen on Waypoint advertisements.

A flash of light yanked him from his observation as bursts of plasma zipped past his viewport.

Outside, a flurry of plasma fire came up to meet the incoming HEVs. Streams of AA discharges filled the air, emanating from sources on the ground that were only just coming into view. Hundreds of anti-air shades stationed throughout the city were opening up on the two descending battalions. Distant and nearby explosions went off across the morning skyline with more fortunate HEVs continuing past the flaming wrecks of their less fortunate comrades.

Duncan flinched when a pod on his left suddenly disappeared in a blast of blueish yellow flame. Like hundreds of other ODSTs he was forced to steer away from the showers of burning debris that had held fellow troopers in them only moments ago.

They reached the altitude for chute deployment. While a good number deployed theirs, some chose speed over safety simply because the latter wasn't a guarantee anymore. Slowing down meant they wouldn't smash into the ground, but it also made them easier for the shades to track.

The Shade Turrets weren't the only things giving them hell, however, as an angry swarm of Seraph fighter squadrons flew in to intercept them like shivers of sharks to a flock of tuna. ODSTs tried piloting away as they ploughed into their formations. Seraphs slashed at their pods with plasma cannons and launched torpedoes that chased after their targets like deadly green fireflies. Some didn't bother firing at all, but merely crashed into the pods themselves, causing a number to detonate as they impacted off their multi-phased energy shields.

Duncan saw a Seraph zoom just underneath him to laterally guillotine an HEV off to his left, destroying it outright. In passing it also grazed Nova's pod, sending her spiraling off course.

On one of his internal monitors he saw her being jostled in her seat.

"Ep-2!" The Staff called. "Stay with it, get your pod back into alignment!"

Nova was breathing hard now, the G-forces from her spin pinning her in place. "…Trying."

Duncan felt a deep sinking feeling at what he knew wasn't a good situation. The beach was only another twenty seconds down. He tried to think of something, anything to help. But by the time he got an idea she was already out of range and the ground was too close.

At fifty meters his breaking rockets engaged. He watched Nova's pod crash into the nearby shallows as his own impacted the shoreline. He popped his hatch, grabbed his rifle and leaped out into a frenzy of flying plasma and bullet tracers.

ODSTs from Bravo Company were firing from behind their pods at targets further up the beach, laying down covering fire for others that were just landing.

Across the Lavender Sector, HEVs were pockmarking the surface with a few even landing in the nearby shallow shoals.

In under ten seconds the surviving elements of Bravo had made it down and used their HEVs to setup loose defensive positions along the first fifty meters of the beach. The last twenty meters were barren leading up to the concrete foundations on which the beachfront property of the Eluciana began. Palm trees palisaded the area and their fronds swayed lazily in the morning breeze. Further back were over half a dozen bean, star and rectangular shaped pools that were themselves surrounded by swim-up bars, straw-roofed cabanas, rings of white poolside chairs and decorative sea grape hedges that branched intravenously throughout the beachfront. The Eluciana itself was a lavish, twenty-story building that looked more like a castle due to its stylistic features reminiscent of Norman fortifications. Its light beige coloring helped downplay the scorch marks dotting its surface. What it couldn't downplay were the room-sized holes that had left parts of the hotel looking like a fruit that a caterpillar had greedily burrowed through. The same could be said for the large number of craters spotting the beach.

A quick glance down the 34-kilometer long coast confirmed that the Eluciana was the norm rather than the exception. The urban tree-line of hotels and resorts that stood before the rest of the metropolitan forest were all left in some form of disruption and disrepair. Some were bombed out. Others had crumbled into ruinous debris mounds where the skeletons still jutted out from the destruction.

The damage was extensive, and also useful for Covenant forces defending the coast. Hundreds used both intact positions and rubble as advantageous cover, firing and receiving return fire from the battalion of shock troopers advancing up the beach.

Jackal snipers took up overwatch from elevated positions while contingents of their shielded brothers, Grunts and Elites maneuvered to take out the Helljumpers.

A few kilometers to Bravo's north, Delta Company were struggling to hold their ground amidst an array of plasma cannons and shade turrets guarding the exits to the Medallion Sector. Further down, Echo Company were similarly pinned but making some headway by exchanging Fuel-rod cannon blasts with rocket explosions on the Sangria sector. Alpha Company was two kilometers to Bravo's south. They were already pushing past rows of smoking Shades guarding Aegean beach to commence their assault on the Fera Caspa resorts.

Bravo actively stared down the twin-barrels of twelve Shades squatting on the Eluciana's property. A mix of Grunts and Elites manning the Type-26 Stationaries strobed the landed pods with plasma, gunning down any ODST that couldn't find cover or that had just leaped out from their HEVs.

Ten pairs of sniper Jackals occupied the Eluciana's rooftop. They sighted in on troopers, skewering vulnerable shoulders, hands, legs, chests and helmets with a round from their beam rifles. Meanwhile, squads of Elite minors maneuvered around the area in front of the shades to take a more active role in the fighting, hurling untranslatable death threats as well as simmering plasma grenades at the troopers.

At least twenty pods had gone up in flames and nearly thirty ODSTs were either dead or wounded by the time Duncan got a full grasp of the situation.

He winced as a cascade of pink needler rounds glanced off the other side of his pod. A few hit the sand mere centimeters from his boots. He wheeled out and focused on a quartet of Grunts bold enough to charge into the Helljumpers' positions. He sighted on the lead one aiming a needler his way and put a six-round burst through its face. As it toppled back, other ODSTs cut down the rest.

He fell back just as a beam round flashed past. The Jackals were quickly becoming a problem. So were the Shades. If they were going to move up the beach then both had to be dealt with. How to do that, however, was the question.

Other platoons answered by laying down suppressing fire for binary rocket teams to dash to cover further up the beach. The brief engagements were stopped short before the Shades again divided the area into a lattice of firing lanes.

The Staff came over team comm. "Ep-8, on me, now!"

He looked over his shoulder to see the Staff dashing back towards the shore, towards the pod that was slowly sinking into the shallows. In all the action he'd almost forgotten about Nova. He risked sprinting after the Staff, zigzagging between pods while streams of plasma stitched the ground around him. Halfway to the shoals he felt a beam zip past his neck and he threw himself behind an HEV a short jump away. To his surprise, Deaks and Renni were already crouched behind it. They both nodded at him.

"Get going Irish." Deaks said, hefting his sniper. "We'll cover you. Just get Nova out of there."

Duncan nodded and rushed away as Deaks and Renni swiveled out to cover him.

He reached the shoreline where the Staff was already wading through the crystalline, turquoise waters to Nova's pod. The HEV was submerged up to the viewport. Since no more shots came his way he went in after them.

The water combined with the yielding seafloor made it difficult to move. The further he went the warmer the Koronea Sea became. He was also starting to notice the heat. It was Spring on Actium, but it felt more like midsummer.

He saw Nova's pod disappear beneath the waves before he could reach it. The Staff immediately dove down after it.

Duncan was still a few meters away and he found himself having to swim as the water deepened. His armor started weighing him down. He made it to the bubbling wake of the entry vehicle and dove.

The water was remarkably clear. He could see up to twenty meters in either direction, including the sprawling patches of fringe coral reefs and schools of vibrant colored fish that trafficked between them.

Nova's pod hit the seafloor five meters down in a more open space. The fact that its occupant hadn't tried getting out yet or respond to his or the Staff's comm-heils was worrying.

Duncan breast-stroked towards it, although the weight of his suit helped bring him down more than his own efforts. His BDU switched to limited oxygen mode, causing the armor's air reserves to appear on his HUD. He hoped the two minutes he had would be enough as he watched the Staff angle up alongside the pod. Duncan headed over, grabbing its other side to steady himself.

"Ep-2, what's your situation?" The Staff called.

No answer came. There was no sign of activity on the other side of the viewport either. The craft bore a sharp indentation in its exterior that didn't look too promising.

"Ep-2, respond, over."

A wash of static flared through team comms before Nova's disoriented voice came through. "…Here sir. The…pod's…oh god, where am I?"

"Underwater." Duncan answered. "You need out before the water gets in." He looked in closer and saw Nova up to her shoulders in it. "Can you blow the hatch?"

"No. That impact knocked out my electronics. My bolts aren't primed."

The Staff took a step back, pulling out his sidearm with one hand and a grenade with the other. "Ep-8, back up."

Duncan started connecting the dots as he stepped back, sparing a worrying look at the HEV.

The Staff wedged the frag in the indent on the vehicle's surface. "Ep-2, I'm about to blow the pod open manually. Keep your teeth in your skull, understand?"

Nova hesitated but flashed her green acknowledgement.

The Staff crouched on the seafloor, aimed and fired two shots. The water's density slowed the bullets but not enough to stop them from hitting the grenade. The subsequent blast created a sphere of displaced water that quickly collapsed into a rising mushroom of bubbles. The hatch flew away and the pod toppled backwards as compressed air spewed from the newly exposed cavity.

The two ODSTs swam over. Nova still sat in her seat, looking slightly rattled yet lucid enough to grab her MA5B. She clipped it to her back harness and took their hands for them to pull her out.

"We'll run for it since we're too heavy to swim back." The Staff said.

The other two nodded and followed him in a slow dash across the seafloor.

Fish parted before them on their way through a small neighborhood of brain corals, waving sea fans and coral pillar mounds that grew more tightly packed the further in they went. They squeezed down aquatic alleyways while smaller fish as well as the larger, whiskered variety with the appearance of Catfish-Mako shark hybrids glided over them.

At a certain point Duncan checked his oxygen and saw he only had another minute left. They had just come out into a more open area with a clear way to shore when Nova started falling over. Realizing she was running low on air; the Staff and Duncan grabbed her arms and dragged her onward.

With three meters to the surface Duncan felt his air supply running out. The last ten seconds on his timer winked red.

He forced himself forward. Then his timer hit zero.

Immediately he felt unable to breathe. He eyed Nova's limp form and the Staff also struggling with each step. He forced himself to ignore the growing pain in his lungs, instead focusing on the approaching surface. When it came, both he and the Staff lunged out into the open. Their BDUs quickly switched to an active air intake.

The three swallowed in the fresh air by the mouthfuls while their armor cycled in more oxygen to replace their spent reserves.

The relief was cut short when a plasma mortar landed a few meters out in front of them, boiling the water's surface.

Multiple energy mortars were now arcing towards Lavender Beach. They appeared from beyond the Eluciana and streaked down onto the sector. Several accurate shots consumed HEVs and the ODSTs fighting behind them whole.

Duncan spotted Deaks hailing them over from behind an upturned pod. The rest of Epsilon were also taking cover nearby.

The three of them fought through the water to sprint to shore, sliding behind a set of pods with the others.

"What's the situation, Ep-3?" The Staff asked.

"We've got Wraiths to our north and southeast. They started opening up about a minute ago."

"And the breakout?"

"Neptune-Actual said its almost in place. We're just buying a few more seconds for-"

A sudden rise in assault rifle fire caught the squad's attention. Twenty meters ahead, 2nd platoon peppered the nearest emplacements with suppression fire, giving a two-man rocket team the chance to dash over into a crater.

"That was last one." Yuri said, ducking as a beam round struck the other side of his pod.

The Colonel came on the squad's personal comms. "Neptune-Actual to Ep-1, you there son?"

"Present, sir."

"Hope you had a nice swim. As you can see, we've got a little Wraith problem."

A Nav point appeared on the squad's HUDs highlighting a location half a kilometer away, just northeast of the Eluciana. "STARS observations and radio-traffic show a fire controller relaying orders to the Wraiths. Once we break from Lavender, I need your squad to take it out. That'll stop their mortars long enough for us to neutralize the hotel. Use the pool formation I highlighted to reach it."

The Staff checked the route on his TACMAP. He looked at the others who nodded back in reception. "We'll get it done sir." He said.

"Copy."

The Colonel switched to the company's communications. "Neptune-Actual to Bravo, rocket teams prepare to engage. Everyone else lay down some cover on my mark."

Duncan saw everyone across the beach reloading their rifles. He checked his own and decided he could make do with '26' on the counter.

"Mark!"

The entire company swiveled from behind pods and inside craters to put down a swath of suppression fire across the area. The sheer intensity of over two-hundred guns letting loose a uniform salvo caught Covenant forces on the ground off guard. Grunts and Jackals fell by the handfuls. Even the Elites were forced to retreat to higher ground or throw themselves flat on the sand. Those that couldn't simply added more stains of blue blood to the upper half of Lavender Beach.

"Rockets!" The Colonel called.

Immediately, the twelve binaries that had moved up the shoreline arose and fired their SPNKRs at the line of Shades along the beachfront. Two dozen rockets struck their targets. In an instant, most of the turrets went up in fiery gasps. A second volley struck the remainder, putting them permanently out of commission.

With the sector's defenses neutralized the Colonel gave the order: "Move up!"

The surviving ODSTs broke cover to sprint up the width of the beach. While the Jackal snipers and plasma mortars still came, they were no longer enough to stop them. However, the outgoing tide of ODSTs made the number of dead and wounded more visible. Around a platoon's worth of troopers had to be left behind with few that were still clinging to life having medics tending to them.

The Staff turned to Renni and Deaks. "Ep-10 stay behind to save who you can. Ep-3, you're her big brother today. Don't let her out of your sight unless those buzzards on the roof start paying her some attention. Both of you keep an eye out for mortars. Understand?"

Renni flashed her acknowledgement light. Deaks did as well, although with a palpable delay.

"Stick with it, Ep-3, you'll get your teeth soon enough. The rest of you on me."

The Staff sprinted out and the others followed. Renni and Deaks joined them up to the point where the wounded became denser and broke off from there. Epsilon's new medic slid to a crouch next to a trooper with a plasma burn on his side. She dragged him to cover behind a toppled pod the corporal had found, got a good look at the wound and whipped out her biofoam injector. Deaks watched her get to work spraying the tissue regenerative polymer onto the wound, then refocused on the rooftop snipers, paying back a Jackal that had tried taking a potshot at his head.

Meanwhile the rest of the squad managed to catch up to Bravo as they started filtering onto the Eluciana's property. From there the company broke into its individual squads, maneuvering down the lanes of hedges while using them for cover.

Troopers began systematically clearing the area. Wounded Covenant were summarily executed while Elites, Grunts and Jackals still on their feet fought on. The two sides traded fire over several pools while regularly dipping behind the thick hedges when the other side returned the favor.

Epsilon came out onto a section just to the north of everyone else. There they came across the hotel's lazy river, a lengthy pool that snaked all throughout the property. Remarkably the water current was still functional. They walked up to where the river looped back towards the side of the hotel.

Nova let out a sigh. "Are you really going to make me go under again, sir?"

"Oh I'm not making you do anything. You can stay if you want." The Staff said then leaped into the water with a splash. Nova watched the others jump in after him.

Duncan came up on her right, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You'll be fine. Just think of yourself as a marshmallow in a mild cup of chocolate."

Before Nova realized the lurking intonation beneath his words, he swept one leg out from under her and used her imbalance to push her over the edge. She tumbled into the water face first. When she resurfaced, she depolarized her visor to glare at him, then slowly melted into a grin. "Guess I had that coming."

"Woah, Deja vu." Zack said, having watched from the side. "Never thought you were the type to hold a grudge that long, Irish."

"I don't." Duncan corrected as he jumped in next. "I just have a long memory."

"I'll bet." Zack followed him in and trailed behind the rest of the squad.

Epsilon moved with quiet haste. They were forced to crouch since the water was only half a meter deep here, meaning they would rely on the encompassing walls to hide their progress behind enemy lines. They moved along the long passageways, circumventing bends in the river while the current pushed them along. They navigated around a few corpses as well, usually ones dressed like former staffers. Their bloated bodies, made so from prolonged exposure, floated past them.

The sounds of plasma and ballistic fire continued in the air. Yet the decorative palm trees that swayed peacefully overhead seemed unaffected by the plasma mortars that flew high over their tops.

Then there were the pipes.

The further in they went the more of the dark-purple pipelines they came across that dipped into the river and sucked out quantities of water. They networked across the hotel's property, even running back towards the waterline on the beach. Whatever their purpose was, they would have to find it out later. For now, something else equally strange held their attention.

Hector had pointed it out first; an object that floated alongside them once they were passing the Eluciana. A closer look revealed it wasn't an object at all, rather a worm, a Hunter worm.

The squad stopped to let it swim past. Duncan noted that the orange, serpent-like lifeform was less focused on them and more so on what lay ahead. They followed it around a bend until they came across a deeper, wider section of the river. Only what little of the river there was to see was nothing in comparison to the swarm of Hunter worms that coalesced on the surface. Their appearance vaguely reminded him of living seaweed. Their slithering forms shifted over the chlorinated water like a gathering of eels in the Sargasso Sea.

Rico stopped to look back at the Staff, shaking his head. The latter looked to the squad and pointed down.

The ODSTs dipped into the now meter and a half deep water. They crawled along the outer edge of the wall, keeping one eye on their oxygen timers and the other on the blanket of disembodied worms, wondering where the bigger forms were. That question was answered when squad's started reporting run-ins with Hunters. Four pairs had stopped Bravo's advance just outside the Eluciana's rear plaza. To add to their troubles, the Wraiths were getting more accurate in targeting them.

Duncan noted their objective was less than fifty meters away. However, it felt as if the river had them going in circles. They were sacrificing speed for stealth. While the random shadow of a passing Elite or Jackal would flash across the surface without noticing them, the entire venture was costing them more time than anything.

The Colonel comm'd in. "Ep-1, we're getting cornered by Hunters and artillery up here. What's your status, over?"

"Forty-five meters left sir. We've encountered Hunter worms across the river."

"…Copy that. Keep moving."

As the Colonel signed off, Duncan spotted an area on the surface where worms appeared to be falling into the water. He upped his visor magnification on the phenomena. Above them stood the silhouette of another pipe. But this one was releasing worms rather than sucking up water. He briefly wondered if there was some connection between the pipes and the worms. Whatever it was he still couldn't pull out an idea that made sense. What exactly were the Covenant doing here: making an aquarium?

Epsilon rounded another bend that led into the mouth of a bean-shaped pool where the Nav point stopped. It was both wide and deep enough for them to get around the denser patches of Hunter worms congregating on the top.

The reddish-purple structure standing in the middle of the pool had more in common with a land crab than a fire control station. Several segmented leg struts upheld its base over the surface. The central body was ovular shaped with various glowing components surrounding a strip of observation windows. A few pipes connected with its main structure while two small ramps extended back to the poolside.

There were no signs of Covenant forces in the area. Most of the fighting surrounded the Eluciana's backyard. Epsilon was near its front side, far enough away from the shooting.

Seeing more plasma mortars soaring overhead reminded them there was no time to waist. The Staff pointed one half of the squad to the left set of legs and the other to the right.

They waded through the water at head-height, making it easy for them to blend in with the worm colonies.

They assembled at the struts. Two-man teams each took a leg. One kept watch while the other pulled out an M168 Demolition charge from their rucksack.

Duncan quietly thanked the Colonel for having the foresight to make half the battalion carry at least one M168 in case they came across such obstacles. He planted it on the strut, twisted the priming handle into place and gave the Staff the thumbs-up. One by one the other planters did the same.

The Staff pointed back to the river mouth. When they were safely away, he gave Rico a nod. The ODST held up an interlinked detonator and thumbed the trigger.

There was a synchronized beep right before the charges went off. The quartet of explosions completely engulfed the station. A secondary blast from inside turned the fires into a plasma-blue inferno that mushroomed up into the sky, sending burning debris, worms and steaming water falling across the area. The fiery remains crumbled into the pool.

Duncan watched the burnt upper arm of an Elite land in a hedge off to his right and felt a small tinge of satisfaction.

They waited for a few seconds. The plasma mortars flying overhead soon grew few and disorganized. After a full minute they stopped completely.

The Staff comm'd the Colonel. "Neptune-Actual, Covenant firing control is down and out sir."

Garrison sounded somewhat strained on his end. Gunfire followed by the bellowing whine of a plasma cannon echoed nearby. "Copy your last, Ep-1. Now move up to flank the Eluciana. We're still taking some heat from these Hunters so make it quick."

"Roger."

The Staff led them out onto the poolside. Happy to have their feet back on dry land, they made their way through mazes of sea grape hedges, crossed walkways and slaughted an unfortunate Grunt patrol along the way.

There were no Covenant actually defending the eastern face of the hotel save for a pair of Grunts manning Type-27 Shades to either side of the lobby doors. A quick barrage and they were dispatched.

Remarkably the front doors still slid open at their approach, indicating the presence of emergency generators.

Several crystal chandeliers gave the front lobby its light, reflecting off the brown marble floor as well as the blood that pooled from over forty dead bodies. They were civilians, many of them lying with suitcases in hand in what looked like a failed escape turned massacre.

There was at least some form of life in three Jackals that stood around a few Covenant supply crates near the receptionists' desk. They were reaching for the weapons inside when they saw the ODSTs standing in the doorway, their weapons already drawn.

Neither of the three aliens ever got to pull out their own pieces before the squad cut them down, leaving the already plasma scarred room riddled with bullets.

The Staff held up two fingers, flattened out his hand in a sweeping motion then pointed up.

The troopers took the hint and split into their four-man fireteams again, the Staff taking point on Team 1 while Nova took Team 2. They fanned out from the lobby across the ground floor. Marble corridors and empty eating areas spanned the majority of the space. Save for a few unfortunate Grunts, Team 2 encountered nothing, nothing alive at least. There were plenty of dead tourists, staffers and scattered suitcases to go around.

Soon they arrived at a kitchen. Stacking up on either side of the doors, Duncan kept his focus on Nova's hand signaling, mostly because he didn't want to risk glancing down at the two little girls lying near the threshold. Both looked like they'd given up trying to escape and instead held each other close. Maybe they were sisters. He stopped once he realized where his mind was going. He forced himself to ignore the still glowing needler fragments embedded in their backs as Nova pushed through the doors. He followed close behind with Yuri and Mito in the rear.

They were flanked on all sides by rows of metal stoves and empty workstations. They filed down the central walkway, scanning the room. But it was when they were almost to the door on the other side that Duncan finally noticed the tips of quivering gas tanks hiding behind stoves on the far end. The owners, several Grunts, rose up with pistols drawn.

"Contact!" Nova shouted.

The ODSTs broke off to cover as the Grunts hurled plasma fire over their positions. Duncan peeked out from an oven to uppercut the closest with a ten-round burst to the face, knocking it back in a spray of blue blood. He targeted the one next to it and scored a lucky shot through its eye socket, killing it instantly. Nova disemboweled another with half a clip from her MA5B.

The last one jumped out to attempt a brave last stand when its throat was suddenly slashed open. It hadn't noticed Mito sneaking up next to it until he had already struck, arcing his katana across its neck. The alien toppled back; its head barely still attached to the rest of its body by a few lucky tendons. Mito twirled the sword downward then finished it off with a thrust through the chest. Once the alien's struggles died away, he withdrew his blade and saw that everyone else was staring at him.

"You know you could've just shot him, right?" Nova asked.

"Yeah, I know." He whipped the blood off his blade. "But that wouldn't be as satisfying. Besides, we can't let them think they're the only ones with swords around here." He slid the Yamamoto Aka back into its sheath with remarkable grace.

The others stared at him a moment longer then continued to the door.

"I like how he thinks." Yuri laughed.

"He's a character, alright." Duncan added.

They stacked up on the door. Nova counted down her fingers. At one they rushed through onto a fire stairwell.

Nova pointed up, and up they went.

Each floor seemed more damaged than the last. A number of exits had clear views of the outside due to gaping holes in the walls left from explosions. They couldn't afford to stop and check the floors though, not while those sniper teams were still active.

Duncan felt like his legs were ready to give out by the time they reached the doorway leading onto the rooftop. The roof's floor was covered in gravel, something that gave the feet of the ten pairs of Jackal snipers enough traction to position themselves along the western wall. They had bundled closer together as the fighting grew closer. With their beam rifles they tracked and fired interchangeably on targets moving throughout the beachfront.

Across the rooftop the entrance to the other stairwell slowly opened. The Staff and the rest of the squad stood in the doorway. Spotting the other fireteam, the Staff held up a fist, flicked his thumb and pointed at the Jackals. The order was straight forward.

Yuri stepped up on one side, Hector on the other, both carrying frags.

They popped the pins before lobbing them over. Four active grenades tumbled and bounced into the Jackals' ranks. Several got off terrified squawks before the successive detonations tore half of them apart, leaving the other half clutching at wounds and struggling to turn on their attackers.

Epsilon moved to flank them on both sides, spreading out and starting forward to lay down an advancing curtain of fire. They gave the Jackals little room to maneuver and their long-ranged weapons proved less accurate in close quarters.

The last one standing had backed up against the wall when a high caliber sniper round tore its throat out from behind. It collapsed in a bloody heap.

"You're welcome." Deaks said over the comms.

"Thanks." The Staff replied and began directing the troopers to positions along the wall.

Duncan was sent to one of the far corners. He peeked over the lip, sighting down the scope of his newly acquired beam rifle. His armor's smartlink software adapted the V-shaped weapon to his HUD, allowing him to scan across the battlefield below.

Bravo Company squads were going toe to toe with a few small pockets of resistance, mostly Elites. The vast majority of the beach's defenses were on their last legs save for the Hunter pairs. While two of the pairs guarding the hotel's rear plaza lay slain, the other two were actively trading SPNKR rockets for bursts from their plasma cannons. Green flames ignited over the hedges, forcing the troopers firing from behind them to displace. But the Hunters kept firing, slowly creating a wall of emerald blazes between themselves and the Helljumpers.

Duncan set the two crescent targeting reticles on the unarmored back of a juggernaut standing in front of a pool. He pressed the triggering stripe, sending a shot through its back. It had roughly the same affect as hitting a rhinoceros with a pin needle, albeit a high-powered pin needle. The Hunter lurched forward but didn't stop firing on a nearby squad. He gave it another shot. This time it growled and turn to face its attacker. Duncan shot it in its unprotected midsection, gutting out more worms. The Hunter held up its shield and was about to aim its cannon when two rockets slammed into its unguarded back, finishing it off.

He switched to the next one lumbering along a decorative colonnade that separated the pool areas from the plaza. A few rounds to the back weakened it enough for a squad hidden in a poolside bar to rise up and gun it down, adding in a grenade for good measure.

Duncan checked left in time to see the last Hunter of the other pair succumb to a barrage of rockets and beam rifle fire from Zack and Rico.

The last firefights were ended a few seconds later as troopers rushed over fallen Elites to storm the now undefended Eluciana.

"Looks like our job here's done." The Staff said, causing everyone to turn to him. He pointed down to the floor below. "Floor 20, we'll start clearing form there."

The ODTs winked their acknowledgements and reloaded. Now with the way cleared, they needed to consolidate their territorial gains. Duncan took one last look at the Premiere Wall before joining the others down the stairwell.

:********:

After clearing the Eluciana, Bravo Company advanced out into the surrounding area. Another three kilometers stood between them and reaching the 1st Premiere Wall. In the interim they were made to push back local Covenant forces street by street and neighborhood by neighborhood.

Less than ten minutes after they'd taken the hotel a reaction force of four Wraiths was sent to stop their advance. They got within half a kilometer of the hotel before 2nd Platoon ambushed them, destroying two of the tanks.

Under Garrison's order the company spread out in a wide advance with at least 20 meters distance separating each platoon, enabling them to cover more ground. Across the Coastal District the other companies of the 7th were doing the same, carving through swaths of enemy territory to reach their main objectives.

The further in they went the more Duncan began recognizing the unique esthetics of the 1st Tier. It was mostly comprised of high-end hotels, reputable resorts and fanciful restaurants. He was even certain he'd seen one or two Csillagos Éj hotels on the way in, the line of hotels known throughout the inner colonies for always being reserved for the extreme upper crust of colonial society.

There were thousands upon thousands of lavish and elaborate villas, many with pools and open glass walls showcasing their luxurious interiors. Many were so diversely extravagant that it seemed as if they belonged to artists striving for their own creative expression. Others were so uniform that they had the appearance of their own little towns. But across the board they shared similar traces of Greek stylistic influences with Corinthian and Ionic columns as well as other features mixed tastefully with more modern architectural styles. Stadiums for every sport under the sun stood throughout the first tier, their archway entries attesting to a similar motif. Theme parks were scattered throughout the district as well. However, those locations often had the most smoke rising from them.

During the initial assault, the Covenant had caught much of the population of High Mediolanum off guard. It showed in the swaths of torched Überchassis, expensive sportscars that had once been a part of traffic jams. Now they were tombs. Even more people had tried escaping on foot. Most hadn't gotten far. The few police officers they found hadn't gotten far either. Their cars and even their own bodies were left mauled by plasma fire.

On every street were more dead, men, women and children alike. Some were more intact than others, some less so. There was no sign of life either way.

It was getting harder to ignore them all. Duncan willed his eyes to stay up as Epsilon vaulted over yards and crossed through villas, blocking it out whenever he felt himself step on someone and even ignoring his natural inclination to apologize.

The 1st Premiere Wall lay ahead of them. Duncan's initial summations looked to be accurate. It stood at an imposing 100 meters tall and curved slightly along the 34-kilometer length of the 1st Tier. Beyond it lay the Residential District at a nearly equal elevation above sea-level. The 22nd were undoubtedly giving the Covenant hell on the other side. Hopefully, they would run into a few of them on the way over.

Yet the closer they came to the wall the more Tyrants there were to be noticed. Twelve were setup near the wall's base, spaced out a kilometer from the next in a line of emplacements. They would have to handle those after they secured the walls. For now, the gatehouses came first.

Gatehouse-15 was one of the Premiere Wall's many gatehouses placed every kilometer along its length. It functioned both as a gate lifter and a mobile platform. For the first function, there was a tunnel entrance in the wall large enough to fit a MagLev tram. Its dark interior led into a subterranean tunnel that ran at an increasingly acute angle through the wall up to an entrance on the surface of the Residential District. While a few of them had transit trams leading between different levels of the city, most locals would've driven up the tunnel highways to get where they needed to. For its second function the gatehouse had a platform the size of half a football field attached to its side. The platform was sectioned off into smaller lots for vehicular commuters, those on foot as well as special cargo. A team of conductors made scheduled trips along the massive magnetic levitation rails built into the wall that allowed the entire structure to travel between districts. That last function made the building a necessary objective.

Epsilon arrived to find the assault already underway. Two platoons were converging on the intersection just before the target building, trading fire with the small Covenant garrison in the gatehouse.

Epsilon sprinted along the intersection towards a corner-side gift shop. They took cover inside and focused on a crew of Elites shooting from behind two abandoned busses near the tunnel.

As more platoons converged on the area the Covenant forces came under greater strain. The few Shades they had atop the gatehouse were quickly taken out by rockets and sniper fire, leaving them with fewer defensive options.

The Elites looked ready to buckle when the low rurring of engines caught everyone's ear.

Three Phantom Dropships flew over the top of the wall and swooped down, pulling up over and around the gatehouse. Gravity lifts flickered to life from their underbellies.

Before the first reinforcements could descend, a new sound came, one of whining screams whose pitches rose in intensity until their origins crashed into the dropships. Two of the Phantoms shook under the impacts of plasma mortars. They turned down the nearest boulevard to see a duo of Wraiths, their own vehicles, moving towards them. However, the 2nd platoon personnel manning them were less than friendly, hurling two more mortars at them to confirm as much.

Fires sprang to life on the dropships' hulls as they swayed under the impacts. They moved to target the traitorous craft with their own heavy plasma cannons as their troops started down the beams.

Two more mortars cut their responses short, however. They erupted into short-lived stars that shut down their gravity wells, causing the riders to fall to their deaths.

The last Phantom moved to escape after dropping its crew, its fuselage already smoking from multiple rocket impacts. Several more darted after it. They slammed into its underbelly and gutted the craft in the ensuing explosion. The reinforcements it dropped off were cut down before any ever hit the ground.

The last defenders were cornered then wiped out by the Wraiths, destroying the two busses in the process.

Second platoon's squad Hotep was the first to break into the gatehouse's doors. Goliath was quickly on its heels, followed by Epsilon.

They systematically cleared the three levels of the building by gunning down Grunts, gun-butting unwary Jackals and smoking out more ornery Elites with frags. In under a minute the teams met up at the structure's conduction center. A breaching charge punched in the door and they slid inside, giving the several Elite Minors and the lone Major inside next to no time to respond. The ensuing bullet storm broke their shields then tore them apart, clearing the room.

A quick investigation confirmed that the instrument panels were still operational.

The Colonel walked in soon after. He looked around, pleased at his troopers' handiwork. "Great hustle out there Bravo, now get us underway. The upper gate's next on our list."

Goliath's 2 and 9 got on it at the instrument panels, leaving Epsilon free to stand guard on an encircling balcony just outside the conduction center.

The rest of the company had already assembled on the lift platform. The Wraiths were the last to come onboard into the vehicular lot. There was a slight jolt accompanied by a brief grinding of hydraulics. Then the subtle purr of the MagLev rails came to ear as the platform began its slow ascent up the wall.

The ride to the top was like a peaceful glide. The new perspective it accompanied made Duncan take note of how the Premiere Wall was not only vertical but possessed a slight diagonal slant.

His attention drifted towards something even more interesting, and more concerning.

The very same pipes he'd seen on Lavender Beach were actually just one part of a larger system running throughout the entire 1st Tier. Its extent became more visible the further up they went. The pipes were weaved all throughout the Coastal District, stretching from the water of the coast and even up the wall where it presumably went into the Residential District as well. Most notably, the pipes connected with the bases of the 12 Tyrants. He couldn't help wondering exactly what the Covenant were up to here, and if they were doing the same thing with places like New Eretria and High Estonia or even the planetary capital of Caerleon.

In the distant North he could see Gatehouse-12 moving up along the wall under Delta Company's control. Echo was slightly ahead on Gatehouse-10. Gatehouse-18 to their south was nearest to the top with Alpha Company in the lead.

Alpha reached the 100-meter mark first, their gatehouse slipping into place within the gateway slot.

Bravo came next. Their gatehouse slid into place, stopping with a hiss of hydraulics.

The lift platform's eastern wall folded in on itself before extending out into a ramp onto the ground of the Residential District. Bravo Company ODSTs poured out into the area. Alpha did the same a block away, along with Echo and eventually Delta several blocks to their north.

The buildings here were more tamed. While they reflected the influences of the coastal area, they were more like middle class suburbs that expanded up a high incline before plateauing out of sight.

A wide cobblestone promenade separated the wall from the district itself. From beyond the incline came the sound of far off firefights combined with the sights of rising smoke pillars.

Yet there was no sign of any progress on the 2nd Premiere Wall kilometers away. In fact, there were no gatehouses moving up to the 3rd Tier whatsoever.

And besides the echoes of distant fighting, the immediate area was utterly quiet. The only sound came from a strange rumbling in the ground. Whether it was from some vehicles or the gatehouses settling, no one knew for sure.

The Colonel joined Epsilon on the balcony to look over the district. His visor was depolarized, letting them see an expression that no one was quite expecting. The hardy old man seemed perturbed beyond what mere words could describe.

"Something wrong sir?" The Staff dared ask.

"It's the 22nd." The Colonel said with eyes wide, not even looking at the man.

"…What happened to them, sir?"

Garrison shook his head, his grip tightening on the rifle at his side as his voice went horse. "Why aren't they taking their…"

In the silence that ensued Duncan felt a growing sense of unease. It was mostly at seeing the Colonel's face. What had happened to the 22nd Battalion to make him look so troubled?

The quiet was disturbed when Hotel's radioman, Hotel-5, burst through the doors of the conduction center onto the balcony. "Neptune-Actual, we've got a problem sir!"

"Being?" The Colonel asked.

Hotel-5 sounded on edge. "I've got two more updates from the 22nd. They never made it to their objectives, sir. None of them. They never even got close."

Garrison was about to ask another question when the trooper cut him off. "There's an even bigger problem. They've reported a Covenant counterassault on its way here."

The Colonel winced, glancing between the district and the trooper. "How far out? What numbers are we looking at?"

Hotel-5 was about to answer when the loudening rumbling sound answered for him. His attention shot to the eastern horizon. The Colonel followed his gaze and froze. The rest of Epsilon tried to see, noticing that the rest of Bravo Company were also looking ahead.

In that moment they collectively realized where the rumbling was coming from. It hadn't been caused by any large vehicles or the titanic gatehouses, but by each and every individual footstep of the thousands of Grunts, Jackals and Elites that were cresting the horizon to bare down on the premiere wall.

Calidum Portum - Hot Landing


	42. Battle of Actium - Chapter 4 (Vermis)

Chapter 4 - Vermis

May 8th, 2545 (07:25 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

:********:

High Mediolanum's three Premiere Walls were more like bulkheads than actual walls. Their reason for being went back almost 50 years ago when in March of 2501 a magnitude 9.6 earthquake struck the northern continent of Treviso.

Early at dawn the citizens of High Mediolanum's coastal district awoke to siren alarms and the sight of an overly exposed beach. Those that stayed long enough, or just failed to escape, were the first to see the 30-meter tall tsunami that came racing up the coastline shortly after.

While the city's natural inclination meant that the upper part of the eastern capital was relatively safe, the same could not be said for the lower areas.

The flood came several kilometers inland before stopping. Entire city blocks disappeared beneath the raging waves. Even the inhabitants of the neighboring islands of the Gulam archipelago weren't spared as the waves engulfed the causeways, cutting off their only escape. Like much of the coastal area the majority of the islands were also submerged.

In the immediate aftermath, local law enforcement and CMA elements attempted a large-scale rescue operation involving four Phoenix class colony ships and every available aircraft from air bases in nearby High Estonia and New Eretria. Though many were saved from the water, an estimated twenty-thousand people were never recovered, their bodies presumably taken back out to sea or buried deep within the newly formed ground as the water receded. What remained were swaths of destroyed buildings and ten times as many persons left homeless from the destruction.

In the wake of the tsunami of 2501, the city council announced architectural improvements that would help protect the citizenry from any further threats from the sea. It was a welcomed reprieve to locals, especially considering the findings of a CAA geological survey of the Trevesian and Pavian tectonic plates which met beneath the Strait of Per Ciridium. The 2503 survey's findings predicted another series of earthquakes in the next 80 years that would dwarf what had happened in Treviso.

The Premiere Walls took ten years to build in congruence with the reorganization of the city's urban development. The walls' gatehouses were outfitted with massive lift platforms not only to assist with day to day traffic, but also to help civilians evacuate from the lower areas to higher ground.

Duncan had studied up on all that history on the way over. He wondered why it came to mind now. Perhaps it was because like those locals, the ODSTs were also facing a tsunami of their own, not of water, but of sprinting boots, overloaded plasma pistols, squawking beaks and mandibles that split four-ways to roar pronouncements of death on all humanity.

They were coming, thousands of them, ranks upon ranks of Grunts, Jackals and Elites descending on a force less than a quarter of their size.

Retreat was their best option. That was what Duncan thought.

The Colonel thought otherwise as he came in over the Battalion's comms. "This is Neptune-Actual! All hands prepare to repel the enemy! Setup defensive positions in your sectors! Company Commanders get your heavy armor in place! We've got two minutes before that wave hits so get it done! We either hold this wall or we lose the city! Let's move troopers!"

The world beyond the 1st Premiere Wall became a cacophony of running boots beneath a rising Covenant battle-cry. Hundreds of ODSTs sprinted across the cobblestone promenade to occupy defensive positions behind halted traffic lanes of Überchassis, trucks and other large vehicles. They peered out over their hoods to set their gunsights on the incoming counterassault. Right away two layers of defense were created across the promenade for each of the four Gatehouses in the battalion's possession. They arced from left to right around the buildings themselves to form a semicircular phalanx of rifles and heavy ordinance. While riflemen formed the bulk of the ranks, the less guarded areas were manned by Rocket and Grenade Launcher teams planning on using the apparent weak points in the formation to lure the enemy into designated killzones. Meanwhile, more troopers maneuvered across the Gatehouses' outer balconies and platforms. ODSTs slipped into the seats of Shade turrets left on the rooftops that had been so generously gifted to them by the structures' previous defenders. Four individual sniper teams setup their SRS-99s on the rails of each of the balconies of the four gatehouses. At the same time, nine newly acquired Wraith tanks turned about on the lift platforms to face the enemy, two with Alpha, two with Bravo, three with Delta and two more with Echo.

Everything was in place in less than thirty seconds.

Epsilon was running across Gatehouse-15's lift platform to join up with the rest of Bravo when the Colonel gave his next order.

"Listen up 7th Battalion, I want Demolition Teams in those Covenant pipelines! Use light C-7 to get inside and plant M168s! Set them to remote detonation! Buy the teams the time they need to plant those packages then await further orders! Double-time it!"

Nav points appeared on Duncan's HUD, dropping on more than a dozen pipes that trailed over the premiere wall, across the promenade and into the Residential district.

Garrison switched to Bravo's company comms. "Epsilon, Guardian I want half your teams running the demolition op! Make it quick!" The two nearest pipelines running between the district and the wall were highlighted.

The squad leaders flashed their acknowledgement lights and started breaking their groups into fireteams.

"Ep-2, you're up." The Staff said. "Ep-6, 4, 9 and 10 will tag along."

"On it, sir." Nova replied and sprinted towards Pipe-2 which ran along the base of the wall. Rico, Hector, Mito and Renni were close behind. At the same time Guardian's demolition teams broke left towards Pipe-1.

"Ep-3 find a spot. Make sure nothing gets close to Hotel-3 and 7. The rest of you on me." Duncan, Zack and Yuri followed the Staff off the platform towards Bravo's defensive lines.

Deaks glanced back at the two Wraiths as they hovered into their firing positions. He nodded off to the drivers and moved to one of the gatehouse's lower balconies nearby.

The Staff's fireteam took up a position at a large flatbed next to squad Hotep. Duncan went prone next to Zack behind one of the rear wheels and peered down his rifle sights.

By his best guess they were looking at around 1,000 enraged Covenant soldiers charging towards Bravo alone. A similar situation was playing out across the promenade for Alpha, Delta and Echo companies facing forces around the same size. They were easily looking at an entire Covenant Brigade that outnumbered them four to one. Although he wasn't deeply religious, he couldn't help looking up to the morning skies and hoping someone was up there watching over them. He sorely hoped that it wasn't the Covenant's gods since they were the whole reason humanity was in this mess to begin with.

A low thump reverberated through the air. Duncan peered back to see Nova's fireteam standing to either side of a smoking hole atop Pipe-2. It was only once they on top of it that he finally got a sense of how large the pipes on the 2nd Tier actually were. They were at least four meters in height by four in diameter. He watched them use ropes to begin rappelling down through the newly made hole into its interior.

He refocused on the intersection that connected to the promenade less than 50 meters away. The Covenant were quickly closing the distance between them. At reaching the intersection they began splitting off into two outflowing rivers of infantry, although notably without any vehicular or air support. The same couldn't be said for the ODSTs as the nine wraiths were the first to open fire.

Across the line the energy mortars whined through the air and arced down to splash over the enemy ranks. Many close to the impact simply evaporated or were sent flying along with dismembered limbs and disemboweled bodies. But it wasn't enough to stop the living tides from surging forward with renewed ferocity.

At 40 meters ODSTs of the 7th Battalion opened fire. The ensuing wall of lead went after targets both on the ground and in the air, cutting down Grunts and hammering the shields of Elites while tearing a growing number of Drones flying just above them to pieces. Still they kept coming, flowing over piles of their own dead that were steadily increasing.

At 30 meters the shades on the gatehouses began belching out strafing bursts. The frontmost forces seemed to melt under the plasma barrage. The combination of the assault rifle fire breaking their shields and the impact of their own plasma helped eat away the stronger Elites. The rocket and grenadier teams fired in perfect harmony, sending dozens of 40-millimeter grenades bouncing forward beneath a fusillade of 102-millimeter surface-to-air missiles. The Covenant's frontlines briefly disappeared behind a curtain of fire and smoke, then reappeared as they reformed to move past the splotches of steaming blue gore and armor fragments at their feet.

The goal wasn't necessarily to stop them from getting close. All of it was rather to help knock the wind out of the counterassault, and they were doing just that.

At 20 meters the thunderous crack of SRS-99s rang out. Snipers began targeting Elite Majors and Officers across the lines, spearing them with arrows of high-powered lead. Snipers of all four companies sifted through the crowd after finishing off one target as they worked their way down the ranks, terminating the enemy's leadership one bullet at a time. The job became easier since the advance slowed, making it less troublesome to spot the higher ranks.

By then the Covenant forces were shooting back. Plasma and needler rounds rained down on the troopers from pistols and rifles, scorching their cover and nailing a number of ODSTs. Both sides were close enough for grenades to be exchanged and the lanes of traffic along with the increasing trade of fire brought the aliens' advance to a steaming halt.

Duncan was running through his fourth magazine as he targeted the vulnerable lower bodies of the incoming aliens next to Zack. He prioritized the shield Jackals since their energy barriers deflected anything less than a leg-shot. He had just finished putting half a clip through the skull of an Elite when the one rushing past it hurled a plasma grenade his way.

It landed on the wheel between him and Zack. They both rolled out of the way just as the explosion blew out the rear axle, causing the vehicle's bedding to collapse onto its side.

The persistent minor leaped on top of its side to fire on them. It never got to pull the trigger as a stream of bullets ripped away its shields and cut it down. Nova and Renni helped them to their feet as Hector and Mito peeked over the flatbed to take out an encroaching pod of Drones. The rest of the squad quickly joined in.

"Ep-2, report." The Staff said, pumping a shotgun round through a Drone's abdomen.

Nova finished off a duo of antsy Grunts while ignoring the green bolts of plasma zipping past her. "We're all set sir. Ep-6 has the link."

Rico gave a confirmatory nod to the Staff as he fired another grenade into the Covenant's ranks.

"Ep-1 to Neptune-Actual, charges are in place in Pipe-2."

:********:

Colonel Garrison used the third balcony of Gatehouse-15 to multitask, getting a good tactical view of the action unfolding across the promenade, coordinating the individual platoons where needed while slipping rounds through the helmets of Elites with his DMR. Even further he listened to reports from the demolition teams coming in one after another. The online status of each M168 demolition charge appeared in the upper left corner of his HUD. So far, they were at '63' charges. With Epsilon's most recent update they were sitting at '70'.

"Update received, Ep-1. Good work. Now hold down your sector. We'll see if we can ride this out."

Yet he wasn't certain they could. The reason he had the charges planted was really as a contingency plan in case they were overrun.

Few if any reports had made it to him from the 22nd Battalion. Their units had mostly gone radio-silent while those that were still responsive gave conflicting and disordered views of what was happening deeper within the Residential District. So far there had been no news of Colonel Taylors.

Right now, the 7th was the only other UNSC presence in High Mediolanum. If they lost the 1st Premiere Wall then the 22nd's fate would be sealed. But what other choice was there?

There was no way to bring in Battlegroup Indigo since the Tyrant AAs still posed a threat. That cut out the possibility of sending for reinforcements.

The only silver lining here was that the Covenant weren't throwing any air units at them. He understood why: the pipes. They wouldn't risk accidentally bombing them, even at the expense of their infantry. That gave him his present idea of killing two birds with one stone.

The M168s planted in the pipes running across the embattled promenade were really just the keys to the city's ignition. If the 7th was forced to retreat then he would set them off. His guess was that whatever was inside of them was semi-flammable given the reports from some of the demolition teams. While the charges had some bang to their buck, the real blow would come from the chain reaction that might follow. He estimated the detonations would set off kilometers of pipelines as the fluid within was set ablaze. It would take out the counterassault and destroy the interlined Tyrants. All the ODSTs had to do was retreat to their gatehouses. That way they would stave off being overrun and open the door for Battlegroup Indigo. But it might also destroy portions of the wall along with parts of the city given how extensive the pipes were.

They would essentially have to destroy High Mediolanum to save it. It all depended on whether they could hold the line here or not.

Garrison was suddenly thrown from his thoughts when a handful of the M168 icons went offline. He scrutinized it as he reloaded his rifle. Another handful winked off seconds after, then another, and another until slightly more than half of the 70 charges were offline.

He immediately linked to the Battalion's comms. "ODSTs, listen up! Our charges in the pipes are going dark! Demolition teams, I want you to investigate! See whose causing trouble in there! Everyone else hold your ground!"

He flipped over to Bravo's comms. "Hotel, Goliath, Guardian and Epsilon get teams back in there to check it out ASAP!"

After a moment, the squads flashed their acknowledgement lights then pounced on the order.

:********:

Duncan fell several meters before splashing down up to his waist in a thick greenish-yellow sludge. The smell reminded him of sewage mixed with dead animal and some new scent he wasn't fond of.

His VISR mode bathed the dark passage in a faint green light. A quick scan down both lengths of the pipe showed the immediate entry area was clear. He turned to the hole in the ceiling and gave the thumbs up. The two silhouettes standing on the topside nodded and leaped down into the sludge.

The three ODSTs started on a quick wade through the liquid, their weapons up. They scanned the shadows for any signs of movement as their VISRs peeled away the dark.

"The second time doesn't make it any better." Rico griped. "This place still smells like a bilge, and I'm being nice about it."

"I don't think you need to be nice." Renni interjected. "It's the Covenant. With them we're paid to insult and assault, isn't that right?"

Duncan laughed under his breath while searching for any signs of movement. He had to admit she had a point.

Rico chuckled as well. "You don't seem like you mind it Dama Rubia. You ever clean bilges on a Paris-class before? You're giving me that impression that you were a swabbie in your past life."

Renni sighed. "I wasn't a swabbie. I'm not blonde either. It's just the streaks."

"Oh-ho-ho, you speak Rico, do you?" Rico said as he scanned the walls. "You a native speaker or what?"

"No not native but I like to learn. What do you think? Am I any good?"

He held out a hand in a 'so-so' gesture. "So, what were you then, huh, if not a swabbie then what?"

"…I was definitely something better than a swabbie, although I don't think I'm much better than one now."

Duncan spotted a splash ahead and stopped. "Movement."

Rico and Renni moved to either side of him. They watched through their gunsights as a Hunter worm emerged from the shadows. It slithered over the swampy surface towards them. They stepped aside to let it past. The lone organism stopped at a fist-sized piece of sludge, coiled around it and began burrowing ravenously into its mass.

Duncan resisted the urge to vomit as they proceeded onward. In little time they ran into more worms. Smaller patches of them maneuvered through the fluid to convalesce around pieces of solids. They looked like parasites feeding on the walls of an intestinal tract. The idea wouldn't leave his head that that was exactly what this was. They were filtering the fluid, breaking it down into smaller pieces until it returned to a liquid form. Yet the question remained as to why.

"Ep-6, how much further?"

"The first charge should be…there, right there." Rico pointed to a circular object on the upcoming wall. They dashed over to it, forcing worms to swim out of the way.

"What…happened to it?" Renni asked.

Duncan wasn't sure either. Neither was Rico. None of them had ever seen an M168 so expertly taken apart. The charge's hexagonal outer casing was gone, allowing them to see the internal components. The activator as well as the fuse and charge were still there. However, the power source was completely missing.

Rico checked it over but couldn't wrap his head around it. At length he shook his head. "I don't know what did this-"

A distant splash made them swivel their weapons back down the pipe. Duncan took a few steps further down to check it out. He noticed the worms swimming away as the fluid rippled towards him.

"Irish," Rico said warily. "You see something?"

He didn't answer as his attention was quickly taken over by the sight of two hulking silhouettes that were slowly rising from the depths. "Contacts, two of them, ten meters and closing."

Renni and Rico came back to his side, guns raised.

The pair of titans came close enough that the VISR mode made out their distinctly humanoid shapes. Slowly their hulking forms came into full definition. Both were headless figures comprised of writhing worm colonies that came together around pieces of solid sludge to form legs, arms and central torsos. They released multivocal groans and charged forward.

The trio backpedaled and opened fire. The 7.62-millimeter bullets cut through their bulky frames, buffeting them but not stopping them.

"Target the sludge!" Duncan said and homed in on them. Rico and Renni did the same, blasting away the core pieces within the forms. The targets quickly turned into weak points that broke apart under sustained fire, causing parts of the figures to collapse. Rico struck out their arms, Renni blew out their legs and Duncan helped finish them off with three-round bursts to their center of mass.

The vulnerable worms quickly swam away from the collapsing figures until they were completely dissolved.

The ODSTs kept moving down the pipe now on guard for more of the Hunter forms as they made for the next charge. It came up on their left. Even that one was taken apart with its power supply missing. A similar motif of theft was also evident on the next three charges left partially taken apart. What they did find were more Hunter pairs that ran into them along the way. A tact of targeting the fluid composites on the limbs and main body earned them quick victories over groups of two and three at a time. Still, they were gradually becoming more frequent.

As they were busy gunning down another pair the Staff comm'd in. "Ep-1 to investigation team, status?"

"It's the worms in the pipes sir." Duncan answered. "They've started merging into larger forms and defusing our explosives."

"They must've started acting up after we left." Rico added. "I don't remember them being like this when we first came in. These little alimañas were just waiting for us to leave."

"We're clearing them out now sir." Renni said.

"Can you confirm the worms are the ones doing it?" The Staff asked.

Almost to answer the question the trio came upon a small, grated platform hanging just over the surface of the fluid. On it was a Hunter form that stood right in front of another charge. One of its 'hands' elongated to latch onto the exterior of the device.

Rico switched on his external speakers. "Oye monstruo!"

It got the alien's attention and it turned towards them a moment before being battered by three streams of assault rifle fire. The amalgamation quickly fell apart under the barrage. It took a final step back before tumbling into the fluid.

The form had already dissolved by the time they pulled themselves onto the platform. A quick examination of the device by Rico was met with a relaxed sigh from the demolitionist. "Ella no está herida. We're good. Looks like two of the other charges are okay as well. We're still in business here but who knows how long that'll be for."

"Is there any way to make it so that they can't dismantle them?" Renni asked.

"Nah, nada-…actually." Rico reached into his rucksack. After a second of rummaging he pulled out a bottle of tactical thermite spray. He sprayed the silvery brown substance over the device until it was completely covered in a thin layer. There was a faint crackle from the substance as it hardened. "The pyrotechnic composition should keep it safe while assisting with the exothermic redox."

"Can you put that in English?" Duncan asked incredulously.

"Hace una gran explosión."

"…Close enough."

Before Duncan could report their progress the Colonel's voice shot through the Battalion's comms. "This is Neptune-Actual, all hands retreat to the gatehouses! Don't get swamped out there! Lay down covering fire for full tactical withdrawal! I repeat, all forces withdraw!"

That wasn't good. Duncan knew it long before the Staff checked in a second later. "Ep-1 to 6,8 and 10, looks like we're out of time! Get back topside, move!"

"Rog-" Duncan stopped mid-reply as Rico tapped his shoulder and pointed. He followed where he was pointing to the rest of the pipe that they hadn't reached yet. The fluid there was rippling towards them, waving forward at an increasing frequency.

They aimed their weapon sights down the passage.

What they saw was a silhouette that vaguely reminded Duncan of an earthworm several times the size of an Amazonian Anaconda. The Leviathan was comprised of thousands of Hunter worms and adjoined fluid composites. It was less than ten meters away yet it was covering ground faster than they could possibly hope to.

Duncan's mind switched to autopilot. He drilled a full magazine of automatic fire into its form with Renni and Rico doing the same. The bullets were somehow enough to elicit a momentary halt from the creature. It bought them enough time to leap from the platform and run for all they were worth in the opposite direction. Yet the sound of slithering continued, letting them know that the worms hadn't given up so easily.

Vermis – The Worm


	43. Battle of Actium - Chapter 5 (Captionem)

Chapter 5 - Captionem

May 8th, 2545 (07:35 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

:********:

Duncan felt his heart threatening to beat its way up his throat as he struggled to run through the waves of fluid. After a few seconds he swiveled around to fire a full magazine into the Leviathan's center of mass. The massive creature had a head slightly larger than the rest of its body that made for a good target. His bullets tore through it, eliciting sprays of orange blood and multivocal screams, but it wasn't enough to stop the creature, merely delay it long enough for Renni to get some distance.

They moved one at a time, two laying down covering fire for one to draw back further down the pipeline and back to the way they'd come in. It was the only way to make sure the alien amalgamation didn't overrun them on the way there.

As Renni dashed past, he heard Rico shout from a few meters further down. "We've got you covered Irish, move!"

Duncan turned heel and started running again while his squadmates opened up on the target behind him. He ran past Renni and got far enough to reload safely. "Rico!"

Rico got up and ran past while Duncan and Renni laid down suppressing fire. The Leviathan growled under the barrage yet never wavered for long. The moment it wasn't under assault it would slide closer again, then again. It stayed on their heels even once they'd reached the hole in the ceiling.

The rope was still in place. Duncan knew it would be the most daunting part of their escape simply because of how long it would take to climb. He let Renni go up first while he and Rico shot away. She called down once she reached the top; "Whose next!?"

Rico slapped a fresh magazine into his rifle and bumped a confirmatory fist against Duncan's shoulder. Duncan took the hint and started climbing. Renni helped to pull him the last of the way up. By then Rico had already run through his magazine. He slammed his rifle onto his back harness and began a hasty climb.

The Leviathan, seeing its escaping prey, made for a final desperate slither towards him. Duncan gawked as he found his and Renni's bullets not even hitting the creature whilst it lunged forward like a viper.

Rico pulled up his legs just in time to let the alien shoot beneath his boots, barely grazing him. Then a wave of displaced sludge made in its wake came flooding towards him.

Duncan saw his squadmate disappear within a burst of greenish yellow fluid which jetted up out of the exit like a putrid geyser. He shielded his visor with his arms against the backwash. When he looked back, he saw that the sludge had covered everything nearby, even most of his armor. Rico was still there with his upper half out of the exit, struggling to pull himself fully over the edge.

He and Renni grabbed him by the arms and helped to get his legs out.

Even that momentary reprieve was cut short as plasma fire lashed at the air all around them, forcing them to go prone in order to stay out of harm's way. Though it was little more than stray fire, its immensity caught them off guard.

The 7th battalion was in full retreat. Orbital Drop Shock Troopers were withdrawing from their positions across the promenade, squads covering squads and platoons covering platoons in a step by step flight towards the Gatehouses. All the while Covenant forces surged forward to apprehend them in a trade-off of ballistic and energy rounds.

Bravo was already well on its way to Gatehouse-15 with 2nd platoon holding near the ramp to cover other incoming platoons.

"Ep-1 to Investigation team, I see you! Get over here now!"

At hearing the Staff on the comms, the three of them quickly slipped over the pipe, falling the last two meters of its girth before breaking into a sprint along its side. Gatehouse-15 was a good distance ahead of them and it seemed that several persistent squads of Elites were moving to cut off their escape. One of the squads took notice of them and started slashing at them with plasma. Duncan and Renni hosed them with their assault rifles as they ran past. Rico came up from behind, thumbing a grenade into his launcher then firing it across the promenade. The grenade hit the ground, bounced a dozen meters then skidded to a stop in the trajectory of the Elites' advance. He released the trigger, instantly blowing out their shields so that a subsequent hail of fire could cut the aliens down.

Duncan still wasn't sure why they were suddenly retreating when they had the enemy on the ropes mere minutes ago. Yet something told him that the reason lay somewhere behind him. He chanced glancing over his shoulder, then immediately wished he hadn't.

There was a second wave crashing down west through the Scenic District towards the premiere wall. A quick glimpse showed him that it was twice the size of the first, around a division in terms of size. The raging tide of Covenant drained past multiple Hunter pairs trotting at a slower pace down the incline. The trough of the living wave was less than fifty meters away and closing fast. Panic drove his legs to be swifter and each stride became longer. After looking back the others moved with a similarly panicked speed.

They covered the distance to the Gatehouse right as the last of Bravo fell back onto the lift platform. The three stragglers finally leaped onto the ramp and skidded to a stop on the other side. As the ramp began rising back into a wall, Hotel-3 and 7 continued using their Wraiths on the enemy. But whatever affect the lone mortars had on the thousands of Covenant troops was barely noticeable. The damage they inflicted was quickly swept away like a rock thrown into the sea, splashing then sinking out of sight.

Across the line the companies invested the last of their munitions into a deafening and unceasing barrage of chattering assault rifles, barking snipers and SPNKR rockets that thundered away from the four gatehouses. The bullet riddled bodies of Grunts were sent flying under the impact of human and commandeered Covenant ordinance. Explosive flames flashed over the shields of Jackals to consume their wielders. Elites staggered back as their energy shields collapsed under the sustained salvos.

But nothing proved enough to stop them. The combined might of the second wave had connected with the surviving elements of the first for a final charge.

Then the Gatehouses began to move.

Delta's was the first to leave, the resounding crackle of hydraulics being followed by the low purr of the MagLev rails that marked the structure's descent. Alpha's was next, then Echo's. ODSTs manning the lift platform committed to keeping up the delaying fire at the enemy to buy time for their escape. Even wounded ODSTs stood up to join their comrades in shooting rifles and pistols over the lip of the raised ramp.

Bravo's was the last to leave. As Goliath's 2 and 9 got them underway, 1st through 4th platoons busied themselves with shooting until they were safely away.

Duncan noticed that weapons were beginning to click empty across the line. He was watching his own MA37 run through its last clip as the sight of the Covenant disappeared behind the rising surface of the premiere wall. The sound of the Maglev came almost like a relief to him. However, they weren't out of the woods yet. The Covenant could still fire down on them, and the little cover they had wouldn't do them much good.

The Colonel came on the battalion's comms. "Neptune-Actual to all hands, be advised, I'm about to set off the oven upstairs! I've only got one order for you troopers!" He paused then said. "Enjoy the show."

Duncan felt the Colonel's smile through his voice, just as he felt the heat on his skin and the flash of bright light that struck his eyes a heartbeat later.

The afterimages of the first few Covenant to reach the lip of the terminal gate were burned into his retinas as they vanished; their forms swallowed up in an instantaneous blast of flame.

The combined wrath of over thirty M168 Demolition charges was released in a single moment, enveloping the hundreds of Covenant soldiers that had been unfortunate enough to reach the four gateways first. A chain reaction was set off across more than half a dozen pipes where the eruptions set the fluid contained within alight. Explosions channeled along the pipes, blowing out into the open to burn through thousands more Covenant soldiers that were further back. Fiery shrapnel diced through whole streets, leveling entire buildings and anything standing or running in between.

Explosions continued further into the Residential District along the pipes, but also went off in the other direction. The chain reaction shot through pipes running over the 1st Premiere wall. They too detonated and the blasts napalmed down the length of the wall. The fiery columns reached the ground long before the gatehouses, channeling out into the pipes at the base where they began funneling through the network that stretched throughout the city.

The fallout reached the first Tyrant in less than five seconds. Duncan watched it fly apart beneath a flower of blooming flames. A similar fate befell the other eleven. In under ten seconds the barrel of the last AA gun arced through the air before crashing back down beside its torched base. Twelve small mushroom clouds arose to cover the burning remains.

Yet that wasn't the end of it. More detonations continued across the city as more pipes caught alight.

Duncan went to the railings alongside the whole of Bravo to marvel at the damage. Two minutes after the Colonel had pulled the trigger, the 1st Tier of High Mediolanum looked like a hellscape of buildings divided into uneven grids by lanes of fire and smoke. Though most of the tier had been spared, a number of structures were left completely aflame, all the way out to some of the hotels on the beachfront and even parts of the shallows.

A good look at the 1st Premiere Wall showed that it hadn't fared much better. There were a number of flaming trails running down the full height of the 100-meter barrier. It was easy to guess by the way the infernos fed off large swaths of splattered fluid that they wouldn't be dissipating for some time. There were also a few new cracks of note in the structure, many of them the width of Warthogs. Dust bled out from the open wounds in the architecture to cover the visors of troopers looking on from below.

Zack whistled at the damage. "I thought we came to save the city, not torch it. I mean, not like anything's unusual about that, but we're usually not the ones doing the torching."

"Better the city than the people in it." Nova said. "And I think most of them got away before this so..."

More distant explosions reverberated through the Scenic District, shaking the wall and gatehouse. "You sure about that?" Zack asked.

Nova shrugged. "Mostly."

Hector breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down on the rails, not minding the sheer drop behind him. "I'm honestly just happy with the fact we got away from that. And what about the 22nd huh? Whatever happened to those guys? We should've been splitting the bill both ways on this date but it feels like we got stuck with the whole thing."

"Put two and two together Ep-4." The Staff answered. "The battalion had no support and probably found themselves on the wrong end of too much plasma, more than what we faced on the beach. I don't think anyone can doubt now that we got the less raw end of the deal on this mission. We almost got overwhelmed and overrun ourselves trying to hold our own objective."

Hector quietly considered it, then nodded in grim agreement. "Well, hopefully some of those poor souls are still alive in there then."

"They better be." The Staff said, slipping more rounds into his shotgun before loading them into place with a satisfying clack. "Because we're going after them. Once we get reinforcements, we're heading deeper in."

The rest of Epsilon that had been standing and sitting nearby turned to him. He returned their expressionless glare. "What, did you think we only need the first wall? You heard what Mentieth said. We need all three. If the 22nd is out of commission then we're expected to pull their weight for them."

The squad remained silent for a moment in contemplation of what would probably be asked of them in a short while. Zack held up his hand from where he sat cross-legged against the rail. "So, when do the others start pulling their own weight? You know, the 27th, the 53rd, when do they start getting their hands dirty, cause I'm starting to feel like we're-"

"Attention 7th Battalion." The Colonel called, cutting off Zack and any other conversation going on across the four companies. "We'll be heading back up to secure a foothold in the 2nd Tier in a minute. Be advised also that Battlegroup Indigo is inbound to provide reinforcements and refreshments. I'm sorry troopers but we won't get to hog all the glory to ourselves for much longer. Let's enjoy it while we still can."

Almost to punctuate his words, a silhouette appeared over the clouds of the morning sky. The ship it belonged to emerged in a gradual descent vector. Two more followed suit. The sunlight glinted off their steely visages like upturned knives floating down towards the ground. Of the trio of Halberd-class destroyers, one of them Duncan recognized as the lead ship of the battlegroup, the UNSC Tower of Babel.

The ships stopped into an atmospheric hold several kilometers off the ground and the same distance from the coast, likely out of an abundance of caution.

The bays opened, allowing scores of Pelican and Albatross dropships to stream out. The throngs of aircraft quickly descended onto the first third of the city.

While their gatehouses stopped to begin reascending, the ODSTs on the lift platforms were given a front row seat from which to view the arrival of the invasion force.

Dropships landed in open areas, atop hotels and other buildings to drop off thousands of Marines. At the same time, they released hundreds of manned Mongooses, Warthogs and Scorpion tanks that drove on to dominate the streets of the Coastal District.

"They better be grateful we cleaned things up for them." Deaks huffed.

Duncan knew he had a point. The lack of shade fire that came to meet them paid testament to the battalion's thoroughness in targeting the ones that posed the greatest threat to landing zones across the 1st Tier. But it was only the first. There were still two more left to go, and after checking his ammo counter, he severely hoped they brought enough ammunition with them to last the rest of the trip. If what they'd just survived was anything to go by, he highly doubted it.

Captionem - Trap


	44. Battle of Actium - Chapter 6 (Ars imperatoria)

Chapter 6 - Ars imperatoria

May 8th, 2545 (09:40 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Near HMPD Headquarters

:********:

Duncan sprinted to the end of the alleyway. He took several cautious steps towards the edge and slowly peered around the corner.

Save for a number of abandoned cars and refuse flying in the morning breeze, the streetway looked clear leading up to the High Mediolanum Police Department Headquarters.

The building reminded Duncan more of a 14th century cathedral than a headquarters. Its Neo-Gothic styled architecture was comprised of four external wings, one facing east, one west, another north and the last one south. The wings stood five stories tall with two rectangular towers at the corners of their front ends that rose to ten stories. Flying buttresses ran along their sides like arching ribs on a skeleton, giving the four structures a kind of Notre Dame appearance. All four wings met at a segmented trapezium dome structure that served as the central building and the heart of police operations.

Duncan's primary concerns were numbered at two: the surrounding buildings and the HQs multiplicity of windows.

He skimmed the rooftops of the closest of the former with his targeting reticle. So far it was clear. He wanted to be sure since they'd already had three separate run-ins with Sniper Jackals on their way here.

Shortly after the 27th Marines and the 53rd Armored had arrived on High Mediolanum's doorstep, the Colonel had the 7th move ahead of them to secure footholds for the invasion force' push into the 2nd Tier. They left the gatehouses, traversed over thousands of Covenant pyres and circumvented lakes of fire dotting the promenade in order to reach the Residential District. The torched ruins of the frontmost buildings were difficult to navigate through. However, the public sprinkler systems shot out high-pressured water from where they had been attached on nearby lampposts to keep the flames in check. It was an ingenuous safety system, and one believable for a city that had, only a few decades ago, faced a catastrophe. Perhaps the urban planners of 2502 came to an understanding that any mass threat to the citizens was a problem, not just those from the sea.

Half a kilometer into the Residential District the companies broke off to their individual assignments. Echo was sent to secure an Überchassis car dealership off in the northeast in case the 53rd required the fuel reserves there. Delta headed further north to capture the Octavia sports stadium which would work as a great observation post over the area. Alpha was saddled with the Sally Greens Department Store further south in the case that the invasion became bogged down and needed extended food and water supplies.

Bravo was bound for the HMPD Headquarters to the southeast. Its importance was two-sided. First was its tactical positioning between two highways running from the 1st Premiere Wall all the way to the second.

Next were its facilities. Depending on whether they were still intact, they would provide the task force with a suitable site for a logistics base. It was one of the few structures within range that fit that kind of bill. But so far Duncan was finding that idea somewhat debatable.

The building had taken visible damage during the initial assault. While the few holes blown through its sides were few, there was still the question of the state of the interior.

Duncan turned to the rest of the squad stacked up behind him against the alleyway's walls. He twirled his forefinger around twice then clenched his fist.

The Staff nodded Deaks forward. The sniper hustled over to the corner, counted down from three and dashed out at one. Duncan leaned out to cover him as he ran for an abandoned shuttle. Deaks slid behind it, stopped to scan the nearest rooftops through his scope then, satisfied that they were still clear, leaned out from behind the shuttle to zoom in on the HQ.

Their target building was on the far end of a long boulevard. However, the space gave his SRS-99 just the right amount of breathing room. He sighted across the urban isle, searching the windows of the convenience stores that lined the way forwards then up the length of the stagnant traffic lanes. After thirty seconds of searching he winked his green acknowledgement light.

The Staff pointed two fingers forward. Duncan left the alleyway first with everyone else following.

They prioritized stealth, as did the rest of Bravo currently advancing on the HQ from different directions. With their supply of munitions left collectively strained after the showdown at the promenade few ODSTs were in any shape to face a full-on firefight. But they had to get moving all the same and hold down what positions they could get their hands on before the next big push. The 27th Marines and the 53rd Armored were currently busy mopping up any Covenant forces still in the 1st Tier. The distant sounds of chattering gunfire and the occasional explosion coming from the west suggested they were moving quickly. Even so it was hard to distinguish it from the echoing reports of firefights raging further east, though whether those were from the other 7th Battalion companies or elements of the 22nd hard at work, no one knew for certain.

Duncan gave quiet thanks that at least the journey up the sidewalk to the boulevard's end was quiet. The squad stopped at the corner to get a better view of the locale.

The HQ on the other side of the highway was surrounded by a three-meter tall perimeter wall. Duncan noticed a few cameras mounted on it that looked relatively intact. That was good. If they could be brought back online then they would come in handy.

The squad weaved around the smoldering car wrecks occupying the first highway. As they did, they spotted 2nd platoon another hundred meters down. They also crossed over before disappearing behind the walls in front of the Western wing. It was another good sign, that everyone was moving at the same pace.

Epsilon stopped at the threshold of the gateway. Its two retracting barriers having been blown open allowed them to fan out into the interior grounds with weapons raised, ready for anything to pop out at them. But the only thing that did was the view.

The interior was disarmingly beautiful. The entire HQ was surrounded by a grassy pavilion. A number of decorative pools, fountains and stone benches rested beneath the shade of decorative palm trees whose lazy sway gave the pavilion the air of an extravagant garden. An asphalt road led past the gateway, through the scenic flora towards the Northern Wing. It morphed into a roundabout in front of the steps leading to a small stony courtyard, and past that, the front doors. The roundabout split off into two roads that dipped down into the ground to pass into two subterranean garages beneath the building, their entrances on either side of the courtyard. An emblem was painted on the upper part of the Northern wing's face, showing the side-profile of a white lion framed from top to bottom by the words 'High Mediolanum Police Department'.

The environment's natural beauty was only disarmed once they saw the bodies. HMPD personnel lay where they had died across the pavilion. Pockmarks from plasma scoring were everywhere and the presence of dozens of dead Grunts and Jackals hinted at the scale of the fight.

Epsilon carefully stepped over the bodies on their way to the entrance. Still, no one was keen on missing a chance to collect ammo. As they went, they dipped down to take an M6 or M7 from beside a corpse or the extra clips from their ballistic vests. Duncan found a corporal lying on her back and staring blankly at the sky. The right half of her face was missing, left slagged on the asphalt by plasma. He noticed the MA37 in her hand along with a few clips in her vest and helped himself. After dogging the final magazine into one of his own holders he closed her last eye for her and moved on.

Duncan felt a little bit more reassured now that he was sitting at a comfortable 212 rounds rather than his earlier 20. He scanned the quiet pavilion as they crossed over the roundabout and up onto the stony courtyard. There were a few more bodies here as well, notably civilians. They were gathered around the doors and looked like they had been trying to get inside.

The Staff reached the first door, a revolving type. He tried to push it open but it wouldn't budge. The others tried a few of the regular hinge doors. Those were locked as well.

In irritation Rico leveled his grenade launcher at one. "Quieres que vuele las puertas, jefe?"

"No." The Staff said. "Too much noise. We'll find another way in." His attention shifted to the garage entrances. "I want two fireteams people. The first goes with me, the other with Nova. We'll link back up inside."

He dropped Nav points on the two garage doors. The ODSTs winked their acknowledgement lights and broke up into their fireteams.

Duncan went to the garage on the left with Yuri, Mito and Deaks. Nova led them down to the metal door blocking their way in. Only it wasn't blocking them, not entirely. There was a sizable hole in the side that looked like the handiwork of a plasma grenade by the way it peeled back like burnt paper from the point of detonation. It was large enough for an Elite to fit through, meaning they were able to get inside with no problem.

They activated their VISRs to capture the dark interior in a faint green luminescence. Isles upon isles of blue-accented police Warthogs, Mongooses and other patrol craft materialized in front of them. It appeared that the garage wasn't to peak capacity with most of the vehicles that had probably once occupied the place having been sent out.

Team 2 moved carefully down a roadway labeled '5', checking beneath and to the sides of the Warthogs for any signs of an ambush. Team 1 was doing the same along the adjacent roadway '4'. The Staff planted another Nav point on an exit at the center of the garage. They regrouped at the door to find a stairwell on the other side. A trail of human blood leaked down the steps.

Halfway to the top they came upon the source of the trail; the body of an officer lying face down on the stairs with a hand clutching his stomach. The Staff stepped past to make sure the rest of the way was clear then motioned to Renni. She crouched down beside the officer and ran her hands over a pair of burn marks puncturing his vest. She shook her head. "Energy sword."

The Staff nodded. Not many people who encountered Elites wielding those things wound up in one piece when all was said and done. He carried on up to the door marked 'Sub-entry 2'. He slowly shouldered it open, keeping his shotgun aimed out. After a brief look around, he pushed through to hold it for everyone else.

The squad found themselves inside of a large basilica serving as the main body of the North Wing. Its brown floor was a polished marble. Two colonnades comprised of white marble pillars ran along the long sides of the interior. There were five levels on both sides, palisaded by more pillars. A slew of desks and cubicles on every level suggested that this was an office area. Inactive elevators and stairway entries connected the ground floor to the rest of the building.

Even though the lights were off, sunlight still poured in through the curved front windows to shine off the spots of dried blood pooled around several dozen corpses. Some spots were redder, others blueish in correspondence with the species of the corpse.

The ODSTs stuck to the shadows of the left colonnade, shifting between pillars while scanning the upper and lower levels. There was no telling who or what else was still alive in here, and there was no guarantee of a friendly reception.

After a minute, they arrived at the central atrium. The circular space was much wider than the wings with twelve dormant escalators connecting the equal number of levels to the ground floor. More encircling colonnades and pillars lined the office spaces above and contributed to the building's dignified atmosphere. To top it off, an enlarged version of the HMPD emblem dominated the surface beneath their boots. But that dignity stopped where the blood began.

Officers had made a final stand here with several AIE-486H turrets setup behind individual sandbag walls. The bodies strewn around the floor showed that the police had been soundly defeated, but not without making sure the Covenant paid a price for it.

Across the way, the other three Bravo platoons were entering from the other wings into the atrium. From there they quietly ascended the dormant escalators onto the varying floors.

The fourth floor fell to Epsilon. They combed through the maze of work cubicles and thrown over desks, checking bodies left lying around amidst a mess of bullet holes, scorch marks and needler fragments.

After an extensive ten-minute search, the platoons reported in. The building was secured with no signs of any Covenant left behind, or any of the resident officers for that matter.

:********:

Duncan and Mito accompanied Nova down the hallway of one of the portions of the fourth floor that branched away from the main offices. Since the fight hadn't come this far in there were less corpses to impede their progress.

They passed by maintenance closets and air-conditioning chambers on their way to their destination. Nova was the first to spot the door on the end marked 'Security Room 4C' and tossed a Nav marker on it.

They moved to either side. Nova grabbed hold of the knob, nodded to Duncan and pulled it open. He sidestepped inside, keeping his weapon leveled as he scanned the shadows. He quickly discerned the more distinct shapes in the room. It was a small space with a semicircular desk on the other side and two chairs. "Clear."

Nova pushed the door open to let some more light in. The rays reflected off several dozen observation screens laid out in a neat grid over the desks.

"Looks like this is it." Nova remarked. "Mito stay at the door. Make sure nothing waltzes in that isn't ODST."

"Yes mam." Mito answered and braced near the door while the other two slid into the seats.

Nova swiveled back around, depolarizing her visor to show her tired face. "Also, don't call me mam. I'm not much older than you."

"Wouldn't that still make you my senior?" Mito asked honestly as he kept an eye on the outside passage.

Nova shook her head in pity. "Good God, you're worse than Zack. Listen, just a little life advice, if you're trying to get a girl to like you, don't tell her she's your senior, okay? We've got a thing about that that I don't think a lot of guys understand."

"You want me to lie mam?"

"What did I just-, okay, just don't call me mam. Call me Nova, alright? Nova. I give you permission to use the name."

"Yes ma-, I mean no mam…" Mito stopped, seeming to struggle with Nova's suggestion more than her order to guard the door. The Specialist rolled her eyes and swiveled back to the desk.

Duncan was already busy switching on the disc-shaped CPU mounted beneath the screens. Its light flickered a warm orange then an active blue as the displays came online. "We're in business." He chirped.

The screens flashed to life, portraying a uniform boot-up screen. Once the system finished warming up the password request appeared. Nova spotted the sticky note on the side of one of the screens with a short six-digit number. She typed the code in on her keyboard and watched with satisfaction as the desktop appeared. "And we're in. Let's get to it, Irish."

"On it." Duncan said, not bothering to fight against the nickname. It was a lot less of a hassle to let it slide nowadays.

Nova manipulated a few subroutines in the main server to split off half of the screens for her own use and gave the other half to Duncan. Through mastery of their keyboards they began running through the feeds of the HQ's perimeter cameras. Duncan further segmented his into four feeds per screen. It gave him a better view of the grounds that were divided into eight sectors with four cameras each.

He checked the first three sectors, finding little more than beautiful scenery and dead bodies. He stopped at a camera on Sector-4, the Southeast. It was posted in the corner of one of the towers so that its elevation gave him a good view of who was coming.

The other platoons of Bravo Company were now making their way through the southern gateway and into the pavilion. A sizable force from the 27th Expeditionary was following them. More than four hundred Marines, two companies worth, were filtering through the suburban and market areas surrounding the southside of the HMPD. Duncan figured they had to be 2nd Battalion's Juno and Golf Companies since he'd heard they had made it up here an hour earlier. A detachment of twelve Warthogs and five Scorpion Tanks joined them in rolling down the two highways towards the HQ. The sight of them alone was a welcomed reprieve. One tended to feel more assurity behind enemy lines when a few hyper-accurate tanks were present.

He watched the Marines pour into the southern gate followed close behind by the convoy. They quickly defused around the sides of the building until they occupied the whole perimeter.

But Duncan stopped himself once he realized that he wasn't doing his job. The Staff had sent them here to get a sense of the HQ's surroundings as well as the cityscape. He glanced over at Nova. She was already activating surviving cameras from the northeast to the southeast of the HQ. He swam through the system to reach a secondary option in the form of a file labeled 'Municipal'. Clicking it lead him to another passcode request.

"I, underscore, love, underscore, bees, underscore, number '2'." Nova said, giving him the answer without even looking his way.

"Thanks." He typed it in. A mainframe interface appeared along with an unfolding list of links beneath subcategorizations named after numerous locations around the 2nd Tier.

He focused on locations that indicated northeast and southeast. As their feeds opened, his attention settled on a few whose descriptions displayed their relative coordinates and the label 'Block-5'. The area was just two kilometers to their northeast. He noticed one feed showing the overhead view of several HEVs that had landed in a street. Though there was no sign of their owners, the distinct bark of assault rifle fire told him they were close. He sifted through a few more cameras in the immediate vicinity of the first until movement in one caught his eye.

On screen he witnessed two ODSTs with rocket launchers race from a doorway onto the roof of an apartment building. Two more ODSTs emerged onto an adjacent building. Both pairs crouched at the edges overlooking the street below where a convoy of five Ghosts was patrolling down its empty length. The troopers waited for them to get closer then let loose.

Muffled thumps sounded as the eight rockets zoomed down towards their targets. Three of the five Ghosts flew apart in the explosions. The fiery wrecks of both the lead and rear crafts blocked any escape for the last two. A quick reload enabled the troopers to take out the remaining assault vehicles before their Elite drivers could react. Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the ODSTs retreated out of sight, leaving behind the wrecks of five burning Ghosts.

The whole thing lasted less than ten seconds.

Duncan turned to tell Nova when he saw her also focusing on one of her screens. That particular feed was showing a trade-off of bullets with plasma taking place across a market bazaar. He counted around three squads of ODSTs taking on a batch of Covenant and could tell who was winning by the way the plasma fire racing over the lanes of wooden stalls gradually became less frequent.

"You seeing this?" He asked.

Nova nodded. "Looks like the 22nd's still kicking." She breathed out. "That's good."

"Did you-"

"Upper left."

Duncan looked at the upper left corner of his feed that had displayed the earlier ambush and noticed the red recording icon. The same icon appeared in the corners of his other feeds as well. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. We'll keep a record of their footprints so that we'll know where to look for them later."

"If there is a later." Duncan said doubtfully.

"Hey, watch it. There's no place for an I in team like there's no place for a defeatist in the ODSTs. If they've survived for this long then they can make it for a little longer."

"Long enough?"

"Let's hope so, Mr. Optimist."

Duncan nodded and did his best to focus on the situation at hand. Still, he wondered how many of their sister battalion were fighting out there, and how many less they would find when they undoubtedly went after them.

He began flipping through more cameras in locations further northeast. In doing so he encountered more pockets of ODST resistance. Some of them were promising in size, looking like whole platoons and even groups of two or three were still holding their own out there. His hope quietly grew with each new firefight found and refuge discovered. He logged each of their locations.

Then that hope stopped growing and began to collapse under the weight of confusion at the realization of a fact that became all the more apparent with each passing minute: the 22nd Battalion weren't the only ones taking refuge out there.

He stumbled upon the first settlement merely by chance. After selecting a link at random he found himself staring at multiple angles of an unexpectedly large gathering of Grunts. It was difficult to get a good idea of their numbers due to the presence of a thick layer of green gas that pervaded the lower streets of Block-23. From what he could tell by the silhouettes waddling below and the occasional sighting of Grunts moving in the haze, their ranks were massive. His best guess brought him up to about a thousand, but he felt even that missed the mark.

He decided to come back to the location and went to a camera further northeast, closer to the 2nd Premiere Wall. The action only helped turn his confusion into abject terror. There was another gaseous zone like the first, covering streets and highways that converged at a rectangular park. Hundreds of flimsy, white dome-shaped tents were erected there like islands in a sea of green fog. He traced the thickness of what he was understanding to be methane back to a dozen atmosphere pits the size of tennis courts that oozed the gas for the methane-breathing Grunts. Guard towers along the perimeter rose up from mobile bases up to ten meters in height. The plasma turrets mounted atop them regularly swiveled from corner to corner in search of targets. He spotted a few Polyhedral huts on higher ground where Elites paced about isles of Wraiths and Ghosts lying just outside. They were likely the ones overseeing whatever was happening here.

He drifted further northeast. His mouth felt dryer with each feed that only showed him one Grunt encampment after another. The closer he came to the 2nd Premiere Wall the more he saw of gatherings whose enormity dwarfed the others. Their existence was a uniquely unsettling sight:

Covenant settlements...in a human city.

Seeing them not trying to destroy a human habitation was a lot like how he thought it felt to see a burning bush that actually refused to burn. He struggled to piece together the magnitude of everything he'd seen and match it against the map of the city in his head. Whatever the Covenant were doing here it was monolithic. And what were they doing? He couldn't wrap his head around why they would be settling parts of the city to begin with.

The warring thoughts within him made it hard for him to pry his attention away from the screens. When he ultimately managed to do so, he moved to speak with Nova but stopped when he saw her eyes filled with a similar horror and bewilderment. Only her attention was stuck to a different abnormality.

Her feeds showed multiple different locations in the southeast dominated by more strange tents. There, scores of Jackals scavenged through meter-high piles of scrap and refuse, throwing what they found of interest into levitating gurneys that flowed back and forth along the streets like red blood cells. Some of those piles were formed vaguely like bird nests where Jackals sat inside, sorting through a treasure trove of horded materials.

Other feeds in the east displayed something even more unsettling. Swarms of Drones flocked around the buildings like a disturbed wasp nest the size of a sandstorm. They took on the visages of honeybees on the comb as they nestled on entire buildings, covering their surfaces with their own bodies by the thousands. Others crawled into and out of open sewers to join the currents of their kin that flowed throughout parts of the eastern Residential District.

Duncan didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he could say anything either. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

Mito found the words that he couldn't as he slowly walked up behind them. "That's…a lot…"

"…Yeah." Nova said hoarsely. She blinked a few times then switched on her comms. "Ep-2 to Ep-1, can you hear me sir?"

After a few seconds, the Staff's voice came through. "Go ahead Ep-2."

"We've…accessed the security room. We've spotted a few holdouts from the 22nd."

"Good to hear. We should be moving out soon to regroup with them."

A brief silence passed before Nova mustered the strength to continue. "That's not all sir."

"Something else?"

"Is the Colonel here?"

"Why, what about him?"

Nova tensed, her eyes dashing between the sights playing out on hers and Duncan's collective screens. "We've found something he needs to see right away, sir."

:********:

Colonel Garrison watched the recordings playing out in front of him while keeping his genuine worry hidden behind a mask of steely observance. Out of the corner of his eye he gauged the expressions of the other three persons in the room. They held their shock in well by the way they looked so mildly conflicted, although the fourth person technically didn't count since he wasn't actually here. His holographic projection simply gave the false impression of presence.

Lieutenant Colonel Serakovich was a grizzly faced man with the sharp facial features of someone with Cossack descendance, an ancestry he claimed to share with one Vice Admiral Danforth Whitcomb. His husky stature stood at attention as his dark eyes scrutinized the display. Garrison wondered what his takeaway was from this whole situation given that he was the most junior member of the task force's leadership currently present. He'd been saddled with leading the 27th Division when its original leader, Major General Sintomas was assassinated shortly after being given charge of the fighting on Actium.

Next was the most junior person in the room. Private Renni Mahonis wasn't part of the leadership or even an officer for that matter. Still she stoically watched the recordings closely with her helmet held against her hip as though she were. He wondered what her thoughts were since it would give him a good idea of how his own troopers would react to this news. He initially had his doubts about having her here. However, after she approached him about a particular matter related to their current topic of discussion, he knew her involvement would be critical and convinced Serakovich and the last man in the room to bring her in.

Lastly was the person whose importance was paramount to Actium's future, so long as he was alive and not replaced.

Colonel Mentieth was dressed in his Army Officer BDU. His jaw was locked in a deep contemplative expression that suggested he was busy trying to piece together exactly what he was looking at. Garrison was thankful that he hadn't chosen to stay aboard his command vessel, the UNSC Tower of Babel, to direct things from a safe distance like most other commanders were in the habit of doing. He preferred a superior who was willing to get his hands just as dirty as the average steel-hearted grunt under his command, mostly because that was his own style of leadership. It was good that they shared that much in common. It made him easier to work with.

At the moment all four of them were in the HMPD HQ's upper briefing chamber, an ovular room with a strategic planner at its center and screens lining its walls. They were here to discuss the topic of the day, perhaps the topic of the century: Why was the Covenant colonizing High Mediolanum?

"Its no wonder the 22nd never made it to the wall." Serakovich remarked under his breath. "It's a miracle any of Taylors' people are still alive out there to begin with. They weren't only facing an occupation force but entire population centers."

"Explains how they could throw whole divisions at us like it was nothing." Garrison added. "They're not just occupying. Now they've got skin in the game. Almost every block within two kilometers of the 2nd Premiere Wall is infested with them. Recon's confirmed it. We're looking at Grunt habitations in the Northeast, Jackal colonies in the Southeast and Drone Nests to the East. They're maintaining a heavy presence along the wall's circumference."

The way he laid it out for them left the most obvious problem lying in the open. He watched to see who would address it first.

Mentieth spoke up, as expected. "Do we have an idea of how many we're facing?"

"While these are just some preliminary observations, our best estimates hold the enemy's strength at around 40 to 50,000…and…"

"And?"

"That's only the groups we've discovered a kilometer away. We don't know how many more there may be closer to the wall. They seem denser there so we're thinking around 90 to 100,000…at minimum."

Serakovich closed his eyes to imagine it. He sighed at length. "I only brought 10,000 Jarheads with me. They're good but I don't know if they're that good. If I recall correctly the 53rd has 12,000 personnel currently in the city. With your ODSTs and whatever is left of the 22nd, we've got somewhere close to 24,000. That still means we're looking at a force that outnumbers us by more than 4 to 1."

"That's not the only problem." Garrison said.

Mentieth and Serakovich both turned to him, prompting him to finish.

"These are just the numbers we've seen and guessed about on the 2nd Tier. Our teams utilizing the HQ's security rooms couldn't access the municipal cameras in either the Coastal or Scenic District. Apparently, they would need to be granted that access by local police stations in those areas, otherwise they're locked out. Simply put, we…don't actually know what's waiting for us in the 3rd Tier."

The air was starting to turn heavy. Garrison noticed it and didn't know how to dispel it. Even he wasn't sure how they could clear the city short of tactical nuke deployments. He'd done almost exactly that with his decision to blow the pipes, one which Mentieth expressed his concern and disapproval over upon his arrival at the HQ, then lamented that there probably wasn't any way around it. That wasn't to suggest that it had destroyed the city however, but that last fact was really due to a strange paradox. The Covenant had saved the human city from its own destruction at the hands of other humans. While a few of the pipes running through the Residential and Scenic District were destroyed, the majority were somehow kept from detonating. Through some unknown means the Covenant had managed to stop the entire system from being compromised and contained the damage to less populated regions. Garrison hated to admit it but he was actually grateful to them for once. Had those explosions reached the methane-rich Grunt habitats…well, he didn't like to think about it. The point was that the enemy had saved all their lives by extension of saving their own.

"Task Force's 2 and 3 are busy handling their own problems with New Eretria to our North and High Estonia to our South." Mentieth said, breaking the silent deadlock. "So are 4 and 5 with New Athens and Patras on the other side of the Koronea. However, 6 hasn't assaulted Caerleon just yet. The Commander of Battlegroup Crimson said their attack route crossed paths with a passing tropical storm that had started kissing up on the west coast late last night, so they're waiting for it to pass."

Colonel Mentieth suddenly walked away from the wall screens. The others followed him over to the tactical planner, Serakovich only having to flash into place. They stood around the table as it detected their presence and the screen warmed. A moment later it emitted a blue holographic image that slowly formulated into High Mediolanum. It showed the three UNSC Destroyers hovering off the coast as well, highlighted in a friendly yellow. Hundreds of yellow dots were moving through the streets of the Coastal District as well as flying over it, they're friendly IFFs identifying the individual units moving around the city. There were fewer yellow dots on the 2nd Tier that were mostly coagulated around four spots. The system identified them as the ODST, Marine and Armored companies currently in the Residential District. However, there was an entire section of the district close to the 2nd Premiere Wall that was essentially bathed in red. A number of yellow dots were spaced out around the red area along with the more residual blue areas where there was less of an enemy presence.

"No one is coming to help us." Mentieth put plainly. "They won't be able to, especially given the bloodbath we're expecting at Caerleon. Any solutions we come up with will have to require the forces we have on hand. And on that note, I want to know why it is that we can't seem to communicate…" He tapped a handful of the yellow dots in the redder zone. "With them."

Mentieth turned on the youngest person in the room. "And I assume that's where you come in, private?"

Renni stiffened slightly under the Colonel's gaze but held it with her own. "Yessir."

"And how is that?"

She looked to Garrison who nodded as he stepped closer to the table. "We've figured out why it is that we can't communicate with most of the 22nd Battalion. The areas where we have the greatest difficulty with comms are here." He reached over and drew his finger in circles. The planner's software generated a white line in the digit's wake. In finishing he left five circles around parts of the red zones, each encirclement five square kilometers wide in real distance. "These are the areas where we believe the black holes in our comm capacities are located. We've suspected what we'll find there are Covenant Communications Jammers. Those CCJ's can block out our comm-frequencies within a preselected range of effectiveness. My guess is that the Covenant are using it to stop the ODSTs in their vicinity from coordinating against them en masse or communicating with us. That way they can keep them isolated and wipe them out one group at a time."

Garrison straightened up. "If we're to retake this part of the city then we'll need to deal with these jammers."

"You're suggesting we send in a strike team to take them out, that way we can get the 22nd up and operational again?" Serakovich asked, folding his arms over his chest. "That only gives us the opportunity to get what remains of the battalion back into play. There's no way they would be enough to help us make a reasonable dent in those forces."

"That's actually not what we were going for." Garrison admitted. "In actuality, we don't need reinforcements." A slight grin flashed over his face. "In fact, we've got all the reinforcements we need right here." He tapped a finger on the red zones.

Mentieth arched a curious brow at him. "Do explain."

Garrison leaned over the planner. "To win this fight we really don't need to fight at all, just let the Covenant do it for us."

Serakovich squinted in confusion, then gave a small laugh. "Are you saying you want us to enlist our enemies into the war effort here?"

"It's a lot easier than you might think."

Mentieth glanced between the redzones and his fellow Colonel. "How is that?" He asked seriously. "Because they've shown little to no attempts at friendly relations with us since our official first contact with them went sour. What's to give them a sudden change of heart now after some twenty odd years of attempted genocide?"

"No change of heart is required, sir." Garrison corrected. "Not on their end or on ours."

"Then what does it require other than hatred of us?"

"Mutually shared hatred for each other."

The attention of the other three flashed to Renni from whose mouth the statement had originated. She took advantage of the quiet. "In those twenty years sir, we've managed to learn much about our enemy. They operate in a kind of caste system with a warrior class led by the Elites and a form of clergy leadership class led by a species they refer to as the Prophets. In the former case of the warrior caste, it's comprised of multiple species who hold grievances against each other, like any class system humanity has. Interspecies strife has been observed on multiple occasions. Although the Elites and Prophets keep things held together, there are flareups, instances where two or more species fight each other on a small scale for any number of reasons. In this instance, we're aiming to exploit the tension between the Grunts and the Jackals. These two species don't get along very well without Elite overseers. The latter are known to bully the former and the former are known to kill the latter if they have bigger numbers and get angry enough. If we were to set something off, say to bring about an incident that boils over into fighting, then we could wreak enough havoc behind their own lines to weaken them."

Mentieth looked Garrison straight on, his brow arched further. "You want us to instigate a Covenant Civil War?"

"Its best to think of it as a Fort Sumter moment." Garrison said. "They already have the fuel. We just need to give them the fire to get things going the way we want them to. If we do manage to pull this off successfully then the repercussions would be immense. It would probably rock the Covenant's internal morale and cohesiveness in the long term if we start convincing them that humanity isn't as much a threat as the alien next door."

"The birds and the turtles huh?" Serakovich huffed, starting to genuinely consider it. "Seems possible."

"And how do you propose we accomplish this?" Mentieth asked.

Garrison nodded to Renni who took a step closer in turn. "I have access to a special offensive intrusion software that will prove useful for this mission." She went so far as to add action to her words by pulling out several red colored stick drives from her pockets. She held them up for everyone to see. "It's essentially a modification of the Smartlink-Hybrid software that enables UNSC personnel to operate Covenant equipment they encounter in the field, such as weapons and vehicles. This version allows a person to gain access to more complex Covenant hardware through an additional translation matrix. These can be given to a few ODSTs as an update to their Smartlink software, enabling them to engage with higher end Covenant equipment, such as the CCJs." She paused to give them the time they needed to digest the new information.

"Can I ask how you came into possession of this technology?" Mentieth pressed.

Renni's gaze flashed to the floor. She moved to speak when Mentieth cut her off. "Actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know, especially if it has something to do with the Office, which I don't doubt in the least. A better question would be has this software been tested?"

"It has." Renni assured. "Navy special forces under NAVSPECWEP have been outfitted with this tech for some years now. They've been using it for highly classified operations with an extreme success rate."

Garrison noted that she didn't name which unit had tested it. For one reason or another his mind drifted to the armored supersoliders he had seen on Miridem. "It's been tried and tested by the best of the best for some time now sir." He said. "If that's not a good review then I don't know what is."

Mentieth slowly nodded, his recognition of the information's relevance showing in his relaxing countenance. "Say we were to deploy a few ODST teams with this new Smartlink software. You said that we won't simply be taking out the Jammers. So, what would you have these theoretical strike teams do?"

:********:

Duncan found the HQ's conference hall to be a mildly pleasant seating space, mostly due to the air conditioning that Squad Guardian had gotten online after finding the building's temperature regulation room.

Setup in the main center's upper floors, the carpeted hall was both long enough and wide enough to house a few hundred persons with a matching number of cushioned seats. At the moment it housed a little over fifty.

Squads from each of the four companies had been called in to attend the current mission debrief. There was November from Alpha Company, Juliet from Delta and Mike from Echo. In attendance from Bravo were Squads Hotel and Epsilon. They all sat near an elevated stage at the front after the Colonel had personally requested their presence.

They'd been sitting for the last five minutes with nothing to do except chat. Duncan heard Hector on his left talking to Mike-4 about the kinds of vehicles they found at the Überchassis car dealership with words like "hot piece" and "4-bangers" coming up frequently. Zack was on his right laughing with November-2 about an incident that occurred at the Sally Greens Department Store where some cook in Alpha had apparently tried whipping up a sandwich with a bad pilot light and nearly blew himself up in the process.

Duncan couldn't bring himself to focus too long on anything, mostly because his mind was still stuck replaying what he had seen. He wasn't distracted enough though to not notice that one person from their squad was missing. He'd been wondering where Renni had gotten off to not long after Garrison and the rest of Epsilon saw the cameras. Wherever she had gone she hadn't told anyone else.

The sound of a door opening caught his attention. He looked up to see Colonel Garrison walking through a rear door onto the stage.

The ODSTs rose and saluted.

"At ease."

As they sat back down, the Colonel raised a hand and the room's lights dimmed. A holograph flashed into being over the stage. It was decipherable to any person who had seen the map enough times already to know that it was a three-dimensional portrayal of High Mediolanum. Its characteristic three-step appearance was always a dead giveaway.

"Listen up boys and girls, we've got no time for formalities so I've just got to jump right into it." Garrison began. The projection zoomed in on the 2nd Tier, portraying the activities occurring there in a series of yellow dots, some of which fell within a haze of red closer to the next wall.

The Colonel explained what they were looking at. He went on to inform them of the massively unorthodox Covenant presence in the 2nd Tier, to elaborate on the numbers they faced as well as the plight of their sister battalion struggling to survive in isolated pockets. Duncan noted how the expressions on some of the helmetless ODSTs turned to concern and even shock at the magnitude of the situation. Then the Colonel moved on to the second phase of the meeting, discussing their newest strategy: communication suppression.

"For this op, our goal is to reach the Covenant Communication Jammers setup in these locations." On the projection, five circles appeared in parts of the Residential District further to the east. "We suspect them to be located here since these are the areas with the highest comm frequency blackouts. ODSTs, your job is to find these CCJs. But rather than destroy them, you will be securing and hijacking them in order to suppress any and all Covenant communiques to and from the area. How you will accomplish this is simple."

The projection changed into what at first looked like a purplish beetle. Then the image resolved into an object with architectural features that were distinctly Covenant. It was a device with a base suspended off the floor by three tripodal legs. Three conjoined cylinders stuck upwards from the base, radiating a bright blue light. Some of the components beneath the conjoined cylinders were marked with the glowing patterns common to Covenant tech.

"This is an example of the Jammer type you will likely discover. They disrupt long range communications. However, short-range communications like your team comms won't be affected. Once you've located the device, secure it and access its main control display." The holograph changed, showing a display on the device's front with stylized Covenant calligraphy. "They can be interacted with using an update to your BDUs' Smartlink software. Tech-specialists in your teams will receive the updates along with a tutorial that they'll need to review beforehand in order to to learn how it works. With it, they will reverse the Jammers' current function of blocking UNSC communications to instead block Covenant communications at a preestablished time."

The projection changed back to the city again, this time with an aerial view of the 2nd Tier. Five yellow arrows moved through the redzones to reach the five white circles, turning them green.

"Once you have jammed all Covenant communiques, secondary ODST insertion teams will both destroy Covenant infrastructure and target special HVIs detected amongst the Grunts, Jackals and Drones. Our ultimate goal here is to bring about a civil conflict between these three groups. "

Multiple yellow arrows appeared next, showing friendly forces slipping into the area to take out specially selected targets.

"We'll use the chaos to get them to kill each other off as much as possible. Once they've inflicted sufficient casualties on themselves, battalions of the 53rd and 27th Marines will push in to wipe out the remainders with the 7th Battalion. We will link up with surviving forces of the 22nd and move to take the 2nd Premiere Wall."

The projection accounted for his descriptions with larger yellow arrows pushing into the 2nd Tier's eastern red zones, wiping them away until none were left.

"At that point we'll have no further need for the Jammers so you'll activate their overload sequences before you leave them. From there, we will advance on the 3rd Tier and take the city."

The projection reflected his words then, at completing its simulation, winked off. The lights came back on.

"We've still got another minute before I have to send you to gear up. We're rather limited on time as you're all well aware. Any questions, troopers?"

The room was silent for ten long seconds as the ODSTs spared the Colonel and each other looks of subdued shock.

"No?"

Zack raised a hand.

"Go ahead Matthews."

"Um, where'd we, ugh…where'd we get that software thing you talked about, sir? How come we suddenly have it now?"

Garrison clenched his jaw in thought, perhaps considering how to phrase his answer. "We have available sources at hand. That's about as much as I can disclose, trooper."

The Staff also held up a hand. "What are our rules of engagement on this one, sir?"

Garrison smiled. "You're heading behind enemy lines where there's 2,000 of them for every 1 of you. Do you really want to go guns blazing into that, son?"

"We just might sir, to stir things up a bit after that little warm-up they gave us on the beach."

Garrison's smile widened and he nodded in understanding. "Keep it stealthy until you're ready. Once you've got the Jammers and can hold them down, feel free to go loud with my blessing."

The Colonel waited a little longer for more questions. When none came, he moved to conclude the matter. "Head down to the armory on Level 3. Juno Company's already moved some of their goodies in there so help yourselves. Suppressors are priority one. Your tech-specialists will also receive the Smartlink updates there from Gunnery Sergeant Singh. The coordinates for your individual squad objectives have already been uploaded to your HUDs. Have those jammers secured no later than 1730 Hours. We jam Covie frequencies at exactly 1800 sharp. No sooner and no later. Let's get this done quick and clean Helljumpers. You're dismissed."

The five squads rose and gave a final salute then filtered out through one of the side doors.

Still, Duncan had a sneaking suspicion that was starting to bother him. It had been heightened for a few days already but now it was impossible to ignore. Something about this mission was off and he felt that the others knew it too. The Colonel hadn't exactly given them a straight answer when Zack asked about the new tech update. Although he knew he would probably be outfitted with it for Epsilon, he still wanted to know where it came from. For the time being at least he forced his suspicions into a distant corner of his mind as he and the others drained down the marble stairs to the armory.

Ars imperatoria - Strategy

Sidenote: Hey so…I realized earlier that for the last 3 chapters I've been accidentally referring to the Residential District as the 'Scenic District' which was the wrong location. I had to change that recently and I seriously apologize for any confusion that might've caused. I'll be removing this sidenote in a few days as well. Please forgive me, have a beautiful day and thank you for reading my work you absolute boss of a human-being. Stay awesome😉


	45. Battle of Actium - Chapter 7 (Variabilis)

Chapter 7 - Variabilis

(7th Cycle, 83 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Near HMPD Headquarters

:********:

After a brief contemplation, 2nd Blade R'tas Vadumee reshouldered the stock of his beam rifle into the crux of his arm. He sighted down the scope and scanned the double-crescent targeting reticle across the structure that the humans called the 'HMPD Headquarters'.

The blue reticle flashed red with each human warrior that it passed over. There were the basic infantry type, the ones his kind referred to as Grass Fodder due to their green coloring, although they also went by the name given them by the enemy: Marines. They were slightly better than the average Unggoy and mostly on par with Kig-Yar. However, one by itself was no match for a Sangheili and required greater numbers to take on one of his kin. In that regard, they were much like the Unggoy. There were many squads of the 'Marines' patrolling around the pavilion as well as up and down the streets and highways outside the perimeter. They were out in large numbers, too large for any binary to take on directly, no matter how skilled.

There were also patrols of the human warriors that his fellow Sangheili referred to as 'Imps'. They were those in the black armor, the ones the humans called 'Orbital Drop Shock Troopers'. They were markedly more difficult to deal with than Marines and were more stubborn when it came to killing them. However, they weren't demons, and that much was a quiet relief to him.

Even months later, R'tas still freshly remembered what had happened on Miridem where, upon the words of one Field Marshall Arzon Zotamee, Covenant forces advanced on the human Starport. They had nearly broken their resistance, then were themselves broken beneath the boots of the green-armored abominations. He watched as they tore into Zotamee's forces and reversed the entire assault. While he was somewhat angered at the failure of his own plan and horrified at the fate of his fellow warriors, he couldn't help feeling some justice in the matter. Zotamee had declared he would succeed in taking on the humans like it was some inevitability. Apparently, the Gods hadn't seen it that way. He only wished that he'd gotten to see the Field Marshall's face after his ambitions were brought so low. For now, at least, as far as R'tas was aware, Zotamee was half the world away managing the ground forces occupying the planet's capital.

R'tas knew that his current task, however, was of far greater importance than anything Zotamee would be doing there now. It wasn't a matter of location, but of person.

He searched the throngs of human warriors for his target. Still, after three minutes of examining the patrols, those guarding the courtyards and those in the vehicles, he found no real indication that the human he was looking for was actually here.

At length he checked his armor's integrated database which pulled up a list onto his visor. On it were twelve humans, each one with a picture showing their faces. Beside them were translations of each of their names, their ranks, units under their command and present locations. Five of them were highlighted in red with a description to the left of their pictures showing the location where they were assassinated. At the top of the list was the first leader of the human forces on Actium, Brigadier General 'Lenz'. Other Shadows in his unit had dispatched the troublesome creature early on. Further down was another name he recognized, Major General 'Sin-to-maz', a kill which R'tas took personal pride in after having shot a beam-round through his neck in the jungles of the northern cays. His partner had also gotten some enjoyment out of the matter by shooting several Marines that tried to reach their wounded commander, forcing the rest to watch helplessly as their leader choked to death on his own blood.

For the last several days his unit of Silent Shadows had been deployed across Actium's surface with the goal of sabotaging the efforts of the human forces here by targeting their leadership echelon. They had exceled in that task up until the realization of the humans' counteroffensive on the two major continents.

His unit was immediately redeployed to their eastern capital to make the necessary preparations for the invasion.

R'tas had chosen the apartment building he was currently on top of after conducting a quick survey of the area. He knew they were likely to use the nearby headquarters as a forward operating base due to its relative positioning on the battlefield. He relied on his active camouflage to blend in with his new surroundings and waited.

He watched the first shock troopers move in on the building. Like a gracious deity he chose to spare them, even though he could have killed a quarter of their number before they ever realized where he was. A similar mercy was spared to the scores of others that came shortly thereafter, although their greater numbers made it near impossible for him to search for his target. He continued waiting even as sometime later he witnessed five teams of troopers depart for the east, towards Covenant held territory. Out of an abundance of caution, he radioed their incoming presence to the commanders of the nearest encampments. Still, he mantained his post. They were not his primary concern, but they were a good indication that some form of leadership was present here.

For his part in the overall plan, R'tas was to target one of the major components of the enemy's forces that had recently been spotted in the city. It was one of the leaders of their shock trooper battalions, a human his database identified with an ODST hosting a left arm pauldron accented by a white skull. For the time being, all he had to his knowledge were the identifiable armor settings and another of those terrible human names that were difficult to pronounce: 'Ger-i-zyn.'

"Have you spotted the vermin yet, because I haven't."

The question came from his operational partner, 3rd Blade Zuka 'Zamamee. He lay prone a few strides away as he eyed the scene below through an observation monocle. Zuka was, by all measures of what made one a Sangheili, an adept warrior with abilities that placed him near the pinnacle of his kind's combat prowess. His being a Silent Shadow paid testament to that very fact. However, he was also, for a Sangheili, brash and too ready to resort to unconventional expedience out of a pressing cause of religious need. R'tas often found his devoutness to the gods and the cause of the Covenant to be so fervent that it bordered on outright foolishness and willful blindness. He would often challenge those in the ordinary forces that espoused what he deemed a 'looser' interpretation of the holy scriptures, having even engaged one of his fellow Shadows in a sword duel after he felt they had cast doubt on the orthodoxy of, rather ironically, the Ages of Doubt. It was to be expected of course since he came from one of the lesser keeps of Ontom's eastern countryside where they tended to lean more on the fundamental literalist side of the faith. But it made R'tas somewhat wary of him, or more specifically his hardline worldview. However, there was no such wariness the other way around. In fact, Zuka avidly admired him. He said as much in singing his high praises every time he watched him snipe a difficult target. He also tended to rest his own weapons aside to watch R'tas at work whenever they were both assigned to a mission, a habit which he was currently in the middle of purveying.

Zuka's camouflaged image turned to him. "Well?"

"No." R'tas replied. "Not yet. The filth has yet to reveal himself."

Zuka let out a dissatisfied sigh, then after a moment perked back up. He extended out a translucent hand in an offering gesture while the other upheld his monocle. "What if I were to infiltrate their defenses and flush him out. It would be easier for you to…"

"I'd rather you didn't." R'tas said, shooting down the idea outright. "There's too many, even for you."

"Then I will go down in a blaze of glory." Zuka said with a detectable enthusiasm. "It's not so terrible a proposition."

"What glory is there in dying in disobedience to the will of the Gods?"

Zuka looked away from his monocle to stare at him. "I do not believe our 1st Blade Officer counts as a divine figure, as much as he might wish to delude himself. Were he a Hierarch, perhaps then you would have a point."

"But we are carrying out the will of the Gods. That is why we are here. If he is leading us then he is the closest representation we have of the Gods made manifest, albeit in a manner requiring of grace. The same goes for his orders."

"I admire how your mind can so easily twist doctrine to suit its needs." Zuka said sarcastically.

R'tas held back the criticism surging in his own being at the sheer hypocrisy laced throughout that statement. "It's the blessing of interpretation rather than the heresy of innovation. I have said nothing new to what is often spoken in the ranks of the infantry by their officers."

"And do not yield your hearts to false diviners, less they should taint the purity of your devotion and lead you down the path of Abaddon."

R'tas frowned at the recitation, and at what Zuka was intoning by extension. "I'm aware of the psalm, oh wise and sanctified 3rd Blade Officer. But would it not be so that to question the authority of our leaders would also mean to question the authority and wisdom of the Gods who appraised them to their positions?"

Zuka returned his attention back down his device. "Oh, you that are faithful, lend us your ears that we might open your eyes, so you will not miss the way to salvation."

"That your feet will not leave the path that leads to our gates, and beyond them, transcendence." R'tas finished as he set his rifle sights on the doors of the western wing.

Zuka turned back to him. "Ah, so you do know the scriptures then?"

"I have my dawn and twilight meditations, as do most Sangheili." R'tas broke from his scope to stare down his partner. "You're not the only warrior with great devotion, brother. It is time that you started respecting your fellow Sangheili the same way."

After a brief silence, Zuka began to laugh. "Once they can beat me like you can in reciting the holy writ then perhaps I will consider it…brother."

R'tas was about to scold him when something on the other side of his scope made him tense. One of the doors of the western wing opened and three ODSTs stepped out. The lead one wore a shoulder pauldron with a human skeleton etched onto it, the exact armor type of his target.

"I see him." Zuka said with all traces of sarcasm in his voice having instantly evaporated.

R'tas watched as the shock trooper called Colonel Garrison walked down the courtyard and over the roundabout with his escorts. He began issuing orders to nearby troopers, directing them to different positions around the pavilion while on his way to the western gate.

"Three possible angles at 300 meters, 290 and 275." Zuka reported, noting the various obstacles including parked assault vehicles, tanks and flora in his calculations. "Which will you take?"

"In my eyes…275 is the firmest bet."

R'tas continued to track the human as he moved down the pathway. His grip tightened around the weapon's triggering stripe, his forefinger hovering just over it. He felt the passage of each second with the consecutive beats of his hearts as the colonel passed the 300-meter mark, then the 290-meter mark. At 280-meters he set his sights on his target's head and watched with anticipation as it turned red. He counted, 279…278…277…276…

At 275 meters he pressed the trigger, but someone else fired first.

The CRACK of a human sniper washed over him, blocking out the sound of his own weapon's discharge.

In an instant, he saw a ballistic tracer slam through the side of his rifle, striking his gun first and causing his shot to go wild. He saw his target tumble back in the brief blink before his rifle flew apart in his hands.

R'tas flattened himself out on the roof just before a second shot flashed overhead. He deduced that the enemy fire was coming from the left and quickly rolled towards the nearest edge. He flew off the side, fell four stories then grabbed hold of a windowsill. By then he could hear Zuka finishing his dash across the rooftop to leap over the edge. He fell down two more stories before grabbing another sill. There would have been no time to run for the exit, not with a sniper able to shoot his weapon out of his own grasp while he was still camouflaged. How they had even known he was there was completely lost on him. But there was no time to think on it, not while their position was compromised.

The two dropped down from sill to sill in an attempt to reach a point where they would be taken out of sight by a smaller, adjacent building. On the way, R'tas dared to look past his shoulder. By mere chance he spotted a human crouched on a distant rooftop several hundred meters away. His eyes widened in recognition of the same special armor he'd seen on Miridem. He quickly jumped to a different set of windowsills just as a third sniper round zipped into the window that he would have fallen past. However, he wasn't prepared for the ricochet that flashed through the window in front of him, grazing his energy shields and blowing out glass into his visor. He lost his grip, fell twenty meters and crashed down onto one of the human vehicles lining the street below. Its windows blew out as his weight cratered the roof. The impact left him winded. He was struggling to take in a solid breath when Zuka called down to him. "Brother!"

R'tas forced his hazy vision back into sharpness. A quick glance over his armor showed that his active camouflage had been dispelled along with his energy shields. He slid off the vehicle just as Zuka's visible form landed on another nearby, crumpling its roof beneath his boots. He dismounted with much greater grace than his teammate could muster.

R'tas started running in the other direction of the sniper, away from the HMPD building. Zuka joined in after him. "Are we retreating, brother?"

"A tactical withdrawal, yes."

"But why, we can take them."

"No." R'tas said as they rounded a corner onto another street.

"And why not?" Zuka came up next to him brandishing his own beam rifle.

R'tas' mind flashed through the memory formed only seconds ago when his rifle blew apart in his hands. He shook his head. "I could tell by their skill; we are no match."

"For the humans!?"

"No, not them, but it."

Zuka glanced back over his shoulder but kept sprinting. "You mean…you saw a Demon?"

R'tas slowly nodded. "And whose to say there aren't more of them nearby. We need to get some distance and report the sighting to our First Blade Officer. He needs to be informed of this immediately."

"I would rather face a thousand Demons than run away like some coward." Zuka growled.

"A coward flees." R'tas hissed back. "A warrior withdraws. We are withdrawing in order to face our enemy when we are able. What glory is there in an unwise death? You would be killed before you ever got close. We will fight again soon enough."

"I would rather die fighting now."

"Then die." R'tas told him. "Perish in your disobedience, brother. Pitch in your lot with the Demon's and hope to the Gods that they favor yours." They bounded into the darkness of an alleyway and stopped to catch their breaths. Amidst their collective panting R'tas looked up at him. "Though I wonder whose they will favor, a creature already set for destruction or a servant who no longer abides by his masters' will."

Zuka's defiant stance seemed to slacken at his words. The Sangheili looked back the way they had come. R'tas set a hand on his shoulder. "We are Shadows. We carry out the will of the Gods in the places where no other light can venture. That is our lot. It is not our place to question it. By their desire we will meet the creature and the others of its kind again. But not here, not now. Do you accept that lot, brother?"

Zuka finally began to slow his breathing. He looked to his superior, spared one last glance at the way they'd come, then gave a tentative nod. R'tas shook him reassuringly. "Then let us be on our way."

"Do you think we at least killed that human, Gar-i-zyn?"

"Hmph. I'm sure of that much. More than likely he is already dead."

"…Understood."

The two Shadows left the alleyway. Once they were again able, they reactivated their active camouflage units and became lost to the visible world.

But R'tas' mind remained in that alleyway. Deep down something in him also wanted to turn back, to face his enemy head-on like he always desired. But he had seen what those creatures were capable of. Although he hated to admit it, they were a match for even his fellow Shadows. To face one now and at such a distance would likely mean the end of them. It wasn't the possibility of his own death that troubled him, however, but of Zuka's and many other Sangheili that would come afterwards if he failed to slay this foe. Then out of the depths of his mind arose an older memory that he wasn't quite expecting, one of three other Juvenile Sangheili sparring with him under the faithful stars of his homeworld. He couldn't help wondering how they would have dealt with this situation, if they would have done anything differently at all. He stopped himself when he realized those thoughts were all coming about in some hope to truly justify his own decision to himself. In the end he forced down the shame that rose up within and kept running.

:********:

Spartan Linda-058 moved with liquid grace across the streetway. She stopped at the corner of a building lying on an intersection, then swung around it to level her rifle down the perpendicular road.

There was nothing there, nothing except abandoned cars and empty side lanes. She rechecked her motion sensor which she'd set to its maximum effective range. Yet much to her quiet irritation, there was no sign of her quarry that she'd been pursuing for the last five minutes. They were long gone, out of range. She figured the two Elites were heading east. It wouldn't be her brightest idea to hunt them knowing what lay further in that direction. With a sigh, she reloaded her SRS-99 and discontinued the hunt.

She cursed herself for being so slow to react. Initially she'd tried to eliminate them both. Yet she hadn't been expecting the two of them to literally throw themselves over the edge of the building. Her attempts at killing them from that point on were next to frugal. That led to her current predicament of failing her sole objective in being this deep into the city.

Shortly after the arrival of the Task Force, she was deployed on a solo mission to ensure the safety of the UNSC leadership in the city. On Actium, overall COs had an uncanny tendency of dropping like flies. Logic dictated that some Special Forces unit was actively acquiring information on and targeting them. Logic also dictated that she would likely encounter them near where important officers were based in High Mediolanum. The HMPD Headquarters just so happened to be her best hunch since that was where the leaders of both the 7th Shock Troops Battalion as well as the 53rd Armored Division were present. She hadn't been wrong. Now she needed to know if she'd been too late.

Linda jogged back to the HQ. After half a minute she reached the western gateway. The whole area was already on high alert with teams of Shock Troopers and Marines combing the highways and streets for signs of the attackers. Some emerged onto the rooftop of the building where the snipers were spotted. Others investigated the two damaged sportscars on the street below to scan for any signs of the assailants.

Upon seeing her, the Marines and ODSTs would give her a salute, an acknowledging nod or simply stare at her as her towering form moved past. She curtly returned the acknowledgements while mostly ignoring the stares. The latter was a skill that came easily enough after some 20 odd years of practice.

She reached the western gateway where most of the commotion was centered. Personnel were gathered around the walls as well as the interior pavilion to form an encircling defense. Once they saw her the ones guarding the gateway quickly moved aside to let her through.

Her worries heightened to a boiling point until she crossed over the threshold, turned and saw him.

Two medics, an ODST and a Marine, were attending to the wounds of a very pissed but very much alive Colonel Garrison. They had sat him down against the wall of the nearby guard house while they removed parts of his armor to reach the smoldering wound in his left shoulder. The Marine held him in place while the trooper applied the nozzle of a biofoam injector on the wound and began spraying in the coagulant. While most ordinary human beings would have growled in pain or some form of agony, Garrison merely gritted his teeth as he stared at a nearby tree with a look that suggested he was ready to kill someone. His expression softened when he saw her walking towards him. Though the two medics subtly flinched at the appearance of her two-meter-tall visage, the Colonel fixed her with a welcoming smile. "Good to see you Spartan."

Linda snapped off a salute. "Thank you, sir. Might I ask, what is your condition?"

Garrison's smile turned to quiet frustration as the medics got back to work. He continued to occasionally wince at the cold chill of the biofoam. "I'm not too bad, just got a mild case of afterburn and a flesh wound."

"I don't know if I would call it that sir." The ODST tending to him said. "It's more like a lucky miss. That shot went straight through, missed your brachial artery by a fraction of a centimeter. I think any further to the left and up and half your cranial cavity wouldn't be here right now."

Garrison looked unphased by the information, only vaguely amused. He turned back to the spartan. "If I had to guess I'd say you're probably the reason why I'm still alive, aren't you?

Linda straightened. "My apologies, sir. I didn't spot them soon enough."

"Elites or Jackals?"

"Elites, sir. Two of them, active camouflage. They were posted on an apartment complex 250 meters to our west. They would have to have been there for some time already, even before I spotted them."

Garrison considered it for a moment and grinned. "The Split-jaws were watching us the whole time, figures. I knew I'd gone too long without a good attempt on my life anyway. If anything, it makes me feel more alive. But that does put me in a spot now doesn't it? Now I've got to take it a little easier for the big bonanza later today. Perfect."

"I don't think you should attend it sir." The ODST said. "You might still be able to hold an MA5 but you're maneuverability will be limited. That left arm of yours is going to need some rest for the polymer to regenerate the damaged tissue."

"What did I just say, Corporal Leeds?"

The medic hesitated. "Uh, that-…you were going to take it a little easier at the offensive later today?"

"Right, and that's exactly what I'm going to do." Garrison declared matter-of-factly. "Is that understood, corporal?"

"Y-, yes-, yessir."

"Good."

Linda quietly marveled at the way he brushed off a fresh assassination attempt as a mild inconvenience to his day, as if it were no worse than a papercut or a spilt drink. She didn't have any qualms about getting injured herself and had her own history of fighting while wounded. That said, she never went out of her way to contribute to a mission when time for rest and recovery was actively available and highly recommended. However, he was a Colonel. Perhaps tha put him on a much tighter operational leash than a Petty Officer 2nd Class, even a Spartan for that matter.

She watched the Colonel decline a cigarette from the Marine medic. "No thanks, I'm already high as I can get on the polymer. Maybe that's why I'm so uppity right now. And what about you, young lady, are you staying here to help out later or are you ditching us?"

The causal manner with which he addressed her caught Linda off guard. Few outside of her fellow Spartans referred to her as anything other than that, so to hear someone call her 'young lady' was almost confusing.

"I'm-"

The low-toned roar of jet engines drew everyone's attention to the sky.

Linda used her HUD's optical zoom to see that the origin of the sound was coming from the west. There an AV-14 Hornet was cresting over the line of buildings and swooped in over the HQ.

A familiar male voice came through Linda's team-com. "This is Blue-3 to Blue-4, you still around? You're pick-ups arrived, over."

"This is Blue-4, I hear you. You're a little early."

"Blue-1's got our new deployment orders. He wanted me to make sure you actually came back rather than stay out here on your own."

"Why doesn't he trust me to come back? Does he think I'm that untrustworthy or does he think his new op's so uninteresting that I'll just stay on my own up here?"

Fred knew the first part of the question was little more than a chide and he laughed a little over the comms. "Sorry to tell you but you missed the mark on both of those. This one's really something. I'll say that much. And I'm pretty sure Chief doesn't doubt you at all. In fact, he's got so much faith in that eagle eye instinct of yours that he sent me to make sure it didn't take over like on your lone wolf side-ops. We're still working in team mode on this one."

"Alright then, does your pilot know where to land?"

She saw that the Hornet was already descending to a spot on the pavilion. "Never-mind, I guess they're quick to the draw."

"You be quick too; we've only got another 15 minutes to get back."

Linda flashed her acknowledgement light and turned to the Colonel. "My ride's here, sir. I wish you a quick recovery."

He gave her a casual thumbs up. "Safe travels, Spartan. And thanks for the save."

Linda gave a final nod and jogged off, leaving Garrison to have his bandages put in place. She reached the Hornet which had landed in a more open space on the grassy terrain. Fred was already on the starboard skid and greeted her with a two-fingered salute as she hopped onto the portside.

With the two Spartans aboard, the Hornet's Turbojet engines whined back to life. They accelerated into the air then headed away towards the west.

"I forgot to ask, had a happy hunt?" Fred prodded.

"No, my two rabbits got away before I could skin them." She looked back at the shrinking HMPD Headquarters. "They're somewhere out there."

"Kelly would probably take offense to that little metaphor of yours. Think they'll be a problem in the future?"

"One of them was about to put an ionized hydrogen particle round through the head of the leader of the 7th Shock Troops Battalion."

"Yeah, sounds like they'll be a problem in the future."

"Or now."

"But later for us, right now we've got bigger game to deal with out west."

Linda sighed, crouching on the skid as she mulled over the events of the last few minutes in her head. She gently caressed the side of her sniper rifle and placed it against her magnetic back harness with all the gentle care of a loving mother. "I hope so, Fred. I hope so."

:********:

The Master Chief watched through the open hatch of the Pelican dropship as it flew them over the cityscape of the 1st Tier.

The elevation provided a good view of the overall goings on. Most of the streets of the Coastal District were relatively clear with friendly forces moving unchallenged down the roads and highways below. In some areas there were firefights raging from building to building between UNSC forces and the remaining pockets of Covenant resistance. Wraiths trying to hold down intersections were quickly outmaneuvered by their human equivalents and outgunned by their high velocity cannons. Fleeing Ghosts were being hunted down across city squares by armored personnel in Warthogs and Mongooses. Marines were storming the last remaining Covenant strongholds with air support from Hornet and Pelican Gunships. A slew of them were currently strafing Covenant forces holding the 1st Tier's Municipal Administrative Building near the center. In doing so they laid down covering fire for the Marines of the 3rd Battalion's Hawk Company who, per their namesake, swooped in on the open yards for a final push on the building.

For the most part, things were wrapping up in the Coastal District. A quick glance at the 1st Premiere Wall showed as much. He counted 12 gatehouses presently ascending the height of the wall's 34-kilometer circumference. Their adjoined lift platforms were fully occupied with companies of Marines and detachments of armored elements bound for the 2nd Tier. They were all getting into place for the expected evening offensive, an operation he hoped his team would be a part of but knew otherwise.

"Think we'll be back in time?"

The question had come from Blue-2. Kelly had been sitting in the opposite seat near the rear opening so that she could also get an eyeful of the view.

"For?" The Chief asked.

"The big show of course, what else? It looks like they're getting ready to head in without us. I'm just hoping this op doesn't take too long."

"It'll take as long it needs to get the job done." He turned to her. "But we'll see how fast we can be. Keep in mind that where we're going, speed won't do us much good."

Kelly sighed at that fact as she leaned back into her seat. It was a bit more difficult to do so given the telemetry probe on her back harness whose cylindrical mass gave it the comparable size of a SPNKR launch-tube. She remained mindful not to move too much less she damage the encasement of the special UNSC tech. "This place is nice and all but a quick swim was the last thing we needed. Don't get me wrong, my MJOLNIR's definitely better than some two piece, but I wouldn't say it makes us very aquadynamic."

"We're not meant to be." Fred added from his seat next to the Chief. "We just need to sink like a rock. It's not like we'll actually be swimming."

"Reminds me of Emerald Cove." Their attention turned to Linda who up until then had been sitting quietly next to Kelly. The name brought up memories of its own, pleasant ones.

Fred rested his telemetry probe on the floor of the blood tray and leaned on it like a cane. "You think Mendez ever forgave us for that?" He asked, chuckling.

"I hope not." Kelly laughed. "It takes away the whole sting of what we did." She turned to the morning skies outside. "I'd rather he held a grudge against us for it in that refined 'Don't test me because I've considered murdering you before' look that he's so good at using."

Linda gave a light laugh of her own as she switched her sniper rifle's place on her harness with her telemetry probe. She must have noticed that the Master Chief was still quiet. "You think the Chief is okay, Chief?"

Behind his visor, John felt a small smile tug at his lips. "I'm sure he's fine, he was never the type to go down easy. I'm also sure the others are handling themselves as well wherever their assignments may be at the moment."

The Chief suddenly caught himself as he realized what he was doing. His tone returned to its normally serious tenor. "As for us, once we arrive, we'll be on our own. Keep your attention on your motion trackers. Understood, Spartans?"

Blue Team gave a collective nod.

Despite his superior's serious tone, Fred asked. "If there's good Calamari down there, do I have your permission to save it for later?"

"Mission first. Food second."

"Roger."

The Spartans spent the rest of the trip in silent observation of the outside as the view changed from the cityscape to High Mediolanum's bay.

The causeways, those that were still intact, had scores of Warthogs actively streaming down their lengths like blood shooting through arteries. They were headed for the islands of the Gulam Archipelago where firefights against Covenant forces were already taking place. Marines and armored personnel were locating, isolating then annihilating the remaining aliens in the various island towns. Their secondary invasion aimed to disable the last of the AA Shades that had reportedly given the ODSTs a hard time earlier in the day.

The lack of any anti-aircraft fire from the islands as they flew over them meant that the Marines of 8th Battalion were getting the job done just fine.

Soon the three Halberd-class Destroyers came into view above them. The UNSC Tower of Babel and UNSC Carchemish were in a holding pattern a few kilometers closer to the shore than they had been earlier in the morning. Their captains probably felt more reassured now that the bulk of the 1st Tier had been secured. The sole outlier was the UNSC Arrow of Paris which had taken up a greater elevation than its sister craft by more than 10 kilometers. Perhaps it was putting itself in the best position for an archer missile bombardment, or even more likely, acting as an immediate deterrent against any sudden appearance of Covenant naval forces in the area.

Eventually the islands and cays of the Gulam archipelago gave way to the open waters of the Koronea Sea. The surface became less serenely turquoise and detectably darker.

Oil rigs began to appear. There were dozens of them spaced out every few kilometers along Pavia's maritime waters. If the Chief remembered correctly, these were the rigs responsible for making High Mediolanum one of the eastern republic's more energy independent settlements as well as a major exporter of Diesel and Liquified Natural Gas extracted from Actium's upper mantle.

Some of those very same rigs were on fire, their oil bleeding out from damaged drill lines lying hundreds of meters beneath the water's surface. They had probably been burning for days already. Pelican Dropships were going from rig to rig dropping off personnel from the Marine Corps of Engineers. A few of the squadrons focused on the installations actively engulfed in flames, turning their open cargo bays to them so that Marines manning hoses in the place of machine guns could help quell the infernos.

"Looks like the Covenant did a number on these rigs." Fred noted.

"Some of them at least." Kelly said. "I'm surprised they didn't torch them all."

"Maybe they know something we don't." The Chief commented with a hint of a suggestion.

The Spartans looked to him, at the sea and silently came to their own conclusions.

Their flight soon came to its end as the Pelican began to descend. They came in just over the top of a rig's derrick tower whose blinking red lights indicated the support structure was still operational. The dropship banked right in its descent, allowing them to see the platoons of Marine Engineers moving to and froe. They maneuvered hoses to put out small fires or headed to the various stations across the installation to perform other tasks.

The Pelican settled on one of the helipads off in the corner. The Spartans were up before touchdown and walked down the ramp onto the pad, allowing the pilot to take off right after.

What struck the Chief right away were the splotches of red and blue blood staining the floor of this pad along with the other two, indicative of a hard-fought landing. There were piles of dead Grunts, Jackals, Elites and even a Hunter pair that had been stacked near the edges, Marine fireteams were taking them and hurling them into the sea. Four of them looked to be in the middle of throwing a blue-armored Elite over the nearby edge when the sight of the newcomers stopped them in their tracks. A few others passing by also stopped to stare at them before going on their way.

The Chief looked around for any identifiable officers. His attention finally settled on a grizzly faced Marine wearing a customary non-com's cap and a hardy demeanor that said he'd devoted the best years of his life to the Corps. He was making his way to the pad while staring at the four new arrivals, not with surprised awe like the others, but suspicion. He held a live cigarette between his lips in such a way that he almost reminded him of Mendez.

The Marine jogged up a short flight of steps onto the pad and stopped a few steps short of the Chief. He saluted. "I'm guessing you'd be…Blue Team?"

"That's us." Fred said.

The nom-com's suspicious gaze flashed between their featureless visors. "I'm Sergeant Major Rubello. My XO told me to expect you in the next twenty minutes, but it seems you're already here."

"We wanted to be early for this op." The Chief said. "Its important."

Rubello scrutinized them for a second as he breathed in his cigar and eased out the smoke. "I'll bet. Follow me please."

The Sergeant Major led them off the pad and into the main body of the rig. As they walked across the more open walkways and through the crisscrossing isles formed between the larger components, they found the dampness of the sea spray had combined with the excess mud and crude oil gathered on the floor to dirty their boots. They regularly ran into Marine Engineers moving from place to place, stopping of course to stare and whisper then move on. At one point they had to hurdle over the lines of several hoses being used further down to put out a roaring flame.

Eventually they reached the base of the derrick that stood at the center of the platform. Though Marines were still struggling to put out a few rogue fires, the majority of the space was clear of dangers. They circumvented the tower and stepped up another staircase onto the outer platform of the drilling control room. The two Marines standing guard there opened the door for them. Inside were a team of five Marines. They had visibly moved the bodies of several dead controllers from the original crew aside so they could access the consular stations.

They too gawked at the incoming Spartans. One of the men, a rosy faced private asked "You guys are the next shift, right?"

"Shut it Oswald." Rubello growled. "Keep your eyes on those intake levels. It's not like you're getting paid to do anything else."

Private Oswald shrugged as he returned to his duties. "You don't really pay me at all." He muttered.

Rubello opened another door that led to a staircase with multiple landings. They traversed down ten flights before reaching a final door, one that the Sergeant Major had to cycle open via a wheel handle.

The large chamber beyond hosted two levels, the topmost having balconies that ran along the sides of the wall before meeting at an observation booth on the far end. The lower level was comprised of a grated floor platform that occupied only half of the bottom. The other half was the familiar, eternally moving surface of the Koronea Sea. A thick descension cable that ran from the roof and into the sea held on it a spherical dive cabin. Rubello pointed to it. "Here's your chassis sir. Do feel free to enjoy the refreshments."

"Will do." The Chief said.

Rubello pointed out a ladder along one side of the balcony. The Spartans quickly took it down to the bottom platform and marched up to the diving cabin. Since it was still a few meters overhead, a crew of Marines manning the observation booth lowered it down to their level.

"It's no Sportscar." Linda noted hesitantly. "But it'll do I guess."

"Just for this mission." The Chief assured. He located the entry hatch, twisted the wheel handle and pulled it open. Kelly went in first, followed by Linda and Fred. The Chief chose to go in last, checking one final time to make sure his probe was still on his back before pulling the hatch shut behind him.

The interior of the cabin was something like a lounge. It was well-lit with an encirclement of metal seating. The Spartans took their seats carefully. Much to their relief, they were reinforced enough to bare the weight of their MJOLNIR.

"Nice and comfy." Kelly said in a sing-song voice.

"They already have the AC, now all we need is the aged wine." Fred added.

Linda shook her head. "No thanks. We're already going into the drink as it is."

Rubello comm'd in. "The cabin has a continuously recycling air supply so your only concern will be going in and out. Just tug on the rope when you're ready and we'll pull you up."

The Chief nodded at the metaphor. "Thank you, Sergeant Major. We're good to launch."

"Copy."

A female voice from the observation booth came over the PA. "Descension cable is active. Be advised, Diving Cabin descending in 5...4...3...2..."

The Spartans felt a slight jolt and heard a hiss of metal gears. Then the craft began to descend.

Outside the craft's portholes the chamber gradually disappeared from sight as they dipped beneath the waves.

The ride down was smooth. It was almost impossible to tell that they were moving at all without looking outside where the depths became darker with each passing minute.

A wall-integrated monitor told them their depth level. They kept a close eye on it as they passed the 100-meter mark, then 200 meters.

After five minutes they reached the 500-meter mark. The cabin whined to a halt while the low thrum of the sea echoed around them. The voice came back on the PA. "Be advised Blue Team, pressure equalization and water influx is about to engage in 3… 2…"

The Spartans braced a second before water began to flow from inlets into the midst of the interior. They watched over the course of a minute as the water slowly rose, covering their shins then moving up to their waists, over their chests until finally their visors were submerged. In little time the entire space was completely underwater. Their limited oxygen modes automatically activated, displaying their armor's 90 minutes of air reserves.

Another minute passed to allow the water to settle. Then the female Marine came back on. "Pressurization is complete. You are now free to exit."

The Chief was the first on his feet, an act made slightly harder due to the slowed distillation of movement affect. The others followed his lead in heading for the doors. He undid the hatch and pushed it open. Per his nature he was the first to leap out into the darkness that lay beyond.

No light reached the seafloor half a kilometer down. It was utterly dark save for the external lights of the cabin and the perimeter lights of the oil rig's four support struts. It was a lot like staring at a barren desert, at least up until the point that the illumination could reach. Beyond that was only a dark nothingness.

The Chief used his HUD's integrated compass to reorient himself towards the southeast and turned on his helmet's flashlights. "Eyes up out there. I want a 2-kilometer spread. We've got a little over 88 minutes, I'm setting our limit at 30. Move out."

Kelly, Linda and Fred flashed their acknowledgement lights. Blue Team proceeded to split off, heading in different directions as their helmet lights carved a path across the darkness of the seafloor.

Variabilis - Variable


	46. Battle of Actium - Chapter 8 (Curiositas)

Chapter 8 - Curiositas

May 8th, 2545 (11:31 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Heraklion Block

:********:

An M7 SMG with an attached suppressor was as ODST as the color purple was Covenant. It made stealth operations much easier with its small size and high magazine occupancy which increased the chances of killing anything on the other side of the scope. Anything, that is, up to 50 meters. Targets beyond that lay outside of the weapon's effective range. The same couldn't be said for the aforementioned target if it had a weapon with a better launch distance. That last part was presently Duncan's sole concern. With his SMG he could take out a Grunt or Jackal pretty quickly and even give an Elite a rainy day at close range. However, the purple armored plating of the incoming Wraith tanks gave him second thoughts.

Four of them were coming down the street ahead, bound for his position. They were closing the 100 meters of distance between them in that menacingly slothful way they were known for. Worse yet, the cars, vans and trucks lying in their path didn't do more than bounce off the front of the lead tank.

Duncan quietly retreated against the corner of the building serving as his cover. He chanced looking back to check on the others.

The avenue that Squad Epsilon had been moving up for the last five minutes lay 1.5 kilometers northeast of the HMPD. On the way here they'd had to dodge patrols of Ghosts and Jackal snipers perched on top of buildings while always keeping an eye out for passing Elites. So far, they hadn't encountered much trouble, but their expectation was initially that they would encounter more Grunt patrols. Logically, the diminutive aliens would become more commonplace since they were approaching the parts of the city dominated by them. Only that was slowly panning out not to be the case. They were mostly encountering Jackal patrols in the outer edges of the other species' habitat zones. They had even run into one by accident while making their way down this avenue. It was as if the Jackals were expecting them. They had ambushed the squad from the front lobby of an accountant's office as they passed by on an adjacent sidewalk. While the ensuing turkey shoot wasn't unexpected, the attention that they were about to receive definitely was.

Less than a minute after the failed ambush a response was already on its way: a column of Wraith tanks. They had probably been in the immediate vicinity when the report went out that humans were in the area. And since the ODSTs had yet to encounter any sign of the 22nd other than a number of long-abandoned pods, they were effectively on their own.

Their only option was escape, and their best route was through a means Duncan wasn't necessarily excited about.

He watched as Hector finally got a grip on the iron manhole cover marked with the branding 'High Mediolanum Sewerage' and yanked it out of the way. The small vertical access tunnel below was dark. Yuri gave him a congratulatory pat on the back, then switched on his VISR mode and climbed down.

After a few seconds Hector gave the Staff who'd been bracing behind a nearby car the thumbs up.

The Staff in turn looked to Duncan, held two fingers at his visor then pointed them around the corner.

Duncan quickly swiveled around the corner again to check the progress of the Wraiths. Sure enough, they were closer by at least 12 meters. He turned back, held up eight fingers and flashed them twice. The Staff checked in on Mito next who was manning an adjacent corner. Still looking out, the private flashed five fingers once then connected his forefinger and thumb into a zero. The second column was even closer. It wasn't a good sign, Duncan knew. It gave them an even smaller window of escape.

The Staff nodded just as Deaks appeared, dragging one of the dead Jackals behind him. Duncan recognized it by the myriad of bullet holes that riddled its body. It was the same one that had come racing out to face the troopers as if it had the strength of some berserk Brute. The squad quickly and collectively taught it otherwise.

As the corporal reached the sewer entrance, both the Staff and Hector gave him a look. He shrugged back and unabashedly tossed the body into the tunnel. It landed with a wet plop, prompting a sudden burst of surprised Russian from Yuri. He swiftly caught himself. They purposefully hadn't been using their comms out here out of concern that the Covenant had somehow pin-pointed their location by listening to their frequencies.

The Staff waved the rest of the squad over.

Duncan dashed from the corner. He and Mito were the last two to reach the gathering at the opening.

Nova went down, followed by Zack and Rico. They had to jump a little at the bottom to avoid landing on the dead alien directly below. Deaks simply leaped down, eliciting a slight crack from alien bones upon impact. As he pulled it out of the way, Mito came down the ladder right after. He was forced to jump after nearly slipping on some of the blue blood tainting the rails.

The Staff stopped observing the corners of the avenue to watch Renni descend, then once she was out of sight, gestured to Duncan. Duncan switched on his VISR mode, grabbed onto the sides of the ladder and slid to the bottom. He felt his boots shift a little with each step over the naturally slimy floor of the subterranean tunnel.

High Mediolanum's sewer system was thankfully not as putrid as what he was expecting. Special chemicals canceled out the high sting of ammonia and the methane-induced pungency that would have otherwise overwhelmed his helmet's air filtration systems.

The passage was long, disappearing out of sight from end to end, but was wide enough to give everyone a decent amount of room. Pipes lined the sides of the dark walls and a semi-pathway of protective grating hung over a river of sewage that flowed freely down a lower tunnel.

Duncan moved out of the way for the Staff to hop down. Hector was the last in and gently slid the manhole back into place, sealing them away in the dark.

The Staff placed a Nav marker on their TACMAPs. On their HUDs they examined the network of subterranean passageways and corridors that comprised the area of the sewer system within their vicinity. To Duncan it looked more like an elaborate jigsaw puzzle with straight lines and rounded alcoves so highly organized that it all could have been the brainchild of a few masochistic urban developers. And that was only the system in their proximity, not the entire district, or the whole city for that matter.

The Nav marker appeared to lead them further east along their original route. The squad moved out at a slow saunter. Nevertheless, the sounds of the Wraiths were slowly coming closer and louder. Eventually, the troopers had to stop when the first heavy tank turned the corner and began moving down the avenue. Both of the two armored columns converged on the roadway above, generating a cacophony of whining gravity propulsion drives that drowned out every other sound. The noise was so intense that it forced them to lower their armor's audio reception settings just to avoid going deaf.

A minute passed where the tanks above seemed to be considering where the reported enemy forces had disappeared to. Then, possibly operating under the assumption that they had escaped, they gradually moved on. After several minutes, the last sounds of their engines disappeared into the distance.

With the tanks gone, the squad was free to continue down one of the the tunnel's intersections. They turned left, then right and left again before stopping at a metal door. A sign over it read: 'Bypass Chamber Herak.4'. On the TACMAP appeared a rectangular room on the other side with the Nav marker resting in the middle.

Hector gripped the wheel handle and started twisting, earning a subdued screech of aged metal. With a final tug the door hissed open.

The darkness of the room beyond proved no match for their VISRs which highlighted its interior with a customary green glow. They stepped inside to look around at the six bypass pipes lining the two sides, three on each. The pipes rose up from pumping sockets on the grimy floor up to holes in the ceiling likely to different sewer tunnels.

Once it was confirmed secure, the squad started settling in. It was no easy feat given the slick and muddy ground beneath their boots.

Deaks was the last to come in. The Staff stopped him at the threshold and pointed to the dead jackal hung over his shoulder like a fox coat.

"Oh come on, can't I keep him sir?" Deaks begged over his external mic. He grabbed the jackal's slack mouth and wiggled it around like a dog's. "He's so adorable, don't you think? Come on, please?"

While everyone else looked on with either disapproval, revulsion or a fair mix of both, Duncan was still surprised by how his squadmate had so easily carried the body the whole way here, one that was arguably bigger than him. Whether he was always that strong or simply that enthusiastic about a dead body, both ideas equally unnerved him.

The Staff stared at him for a moment longer then, with a sigh, allowed him in. The others gave him a wide berth as he ecstatically rested the body near one of the bypass pipes then unceremoniously plopped down beside it. Immediately he went to his dire work of unsheathing Silver Buddha and resting the corpse over his lap so he could get a good handle on it. However, as he began whittling into the first of its finger sized teeth the Jackal's eyes shot open. It began struggling and flailing about, its movements only hampered by its many wounds and Deaks' arms.

The squad quickly took aim. Yet they never had to open fire.

Deaks grabbed the alien's flexing jaw with one hand before it could scream. With the other, he stabbed Silver Buddha into the base of its neck nearly up to the hilt. The Jackal's movements intensified as it writhed under its captor's restraint. Then slowly its movements plateaued and finally ceased.

In the place of the flailing sounds arose a kind of crying. It took Duncan a second to realize that it wasn't coming from the alien, but from Deaks. "I-, can't believe I had to-, to put him down." He said in a way that mocked the grief of someone mourning for a dead pet. He let go of its mouth and held its torso closer. "If only I-, got to say goodbye to him. I would've, I would've told him…" His voice dropped back to normal, "that he would've lived a little longer if he'd just stayed still."

The corporal gripped Silver Buddha and pulled out the weapon, creating a small outpouring of blue gore onto the floor. He didn't bother wiping the knife and immediately restarted his work. Maneuvering the blade through the damp recesses of its jaws he began systematically digging around then flicking out its frontmost teeth, effectively unburying their roots from the gums. He grabbed the first four and inspected them with an air of satisfaction.

The others looked on with varying degrees of quiet disgust.

"You're sick, man." Hector said.

Deaks didn't even bother looking up at him or stopping for that matter. "Am I really the one that's sick or have you all just fooled yourselves into thinking you're healthy?"

Hector shook his head and walked away from the conversation before it could evolve into another of their philosophical spats. He sealed the first door shut behind them and headed for the other when the Staff caught him by the shoulder. "We'll hold here for now."

No one moved to dispute the order, no one except Renni who stepped up. "Sir, shouldn't we be on our way?"

The Staff glanced over his shoulder at her. "What's the rush, Ep-10? We've got time."

"But shouldn't we use that time to-"

"Matchstick." The Staff turned to Yuri who was already squatting in a corner. "How much time until we need to be in position?"

Yuri squinted at the mission clock on his HUD. "We have…5 hours and 50 minutes."

The Staff looked back at Renni. "See, we've got time."

Hector walked away from where he stood beside him.

Off on the side, Duncan was trying to figure out why he'd asked Yuri when the mission timer was running on everyone's HUDs. Then he remembered.

Yuri got back on his feet and started walking.

The Staff kept his focus on Renni. She looked conflicted about his decision and voiced her opposition. "Sir, we need to get moving. Wouldn't that be the best course of action considering how our movements are currently hampered by these conditions?"

"What's the rush?" The Staff repeated. "If anything, this gives us some time to talk about a few things. I'm sure you won't mind."

Renni hadn't noticed she was being flanked up until the moment Hector and Yuri both stepped past her on the left and right, the former yanking her SMG out of her hands and taking the two frags on her belt while the latter pick-pocketed her M6 from her thigh bracer. They casually walked off with her weapons in hand all before she could react.

She moved to ask what was going on when she noticed that everyone else was quietly watching her, their rifles resting across their chests with their fingers actively on the triggers. There was a tension in the air that she hadn't noticed until now.

The Staff sauntered off to the unopened door and sat on the several steps in front of it. He clipped his rifle to his harness and leaned forward, his hands folded together and his sights settled on her.

It was much like what Duncan envisioned a 20th century mobster meeting would look like, mafia family and all.

Renni's visor depolarized, revealing the troubled expression on her face. But there was something else there. Unless Duncan was mistaken, he thought she looked almost accepting of the situation, as if she knew exactly what was about to happen.

"What did you want to talk about, sir?" She asked hesitantly.

The Staff didn't answer right away. He allowed the silence to pervade the subterranean chamber for a while, increasing the private's own visible uneasiness before he spoke.

"Why weren't you at the mission briefing?"

Renni stared at him. Her mouth worked like she was searching for something to say, but ultimately couldn't find what suited her.

"Here's a better question. Where were you during the mission briefing?"

Only the natural ambiance of the chamber answered him.

The Staff breathed out his dissatisfaction at the conversation's one-sidedness. "Let's start from the beginning so you'll know what I'm after here. You see them?" He pointed to the rest of the squad. "They're my troopers. This is my squad. When we're not on duty, what they do is officially none of my business. However, I am responsible for their actions on the field, including their successes and failures in operating as a team. For the last several hours straight, we have been on active duty, shooting and being shot at…together. Now during the briefing, I did not see you, Private Mahonis, present in that hall. You disappeared right after we showed Garrison the recordings. What I want to know is this: Where were you?"

Renni closed her eyes in contemplation, then opened them again in an air of admittance. "I was…having a conversation with the Colonel."

"About?"

She looked shocked. "Isn't it…a conversation between me and the Colonel…considered private?"

The Staff's head slowly cocked to the side in an unamused glare.

Renni visibly straightened. "I spoke with him about the current situation."

"What else?"

"…I gave him my recommendations."

The Staff whistled. "A Colonel taking advice from a Private? I've known Garrison for years and he's always the one giving me advice. Not you apparently. Somehow, it's the other way around. But something's telling me that you're not just a private. So what else did you 'give' him?"

The core question was laced into the quandary. She gradually picked up on it and, with measured reluctance, sighed out her answer as if she couldn't hold it in anymore. "I'm the one who gave him the Smartlink update, sir."

A quietness settled on the room as the Staff stared at her. He leaned back in thought. "And how did you get your hands on that kind of tech? Where did it come from?"

"Where?"

"Yes." He said firmly. "Where?"

Renni looked around but saw only unempathetic, polarized visors staring back. She swallowed nervously and kept her eyes focused on the ground rather than the Staff. "The Office, sir. It's from the Office."

"As in, Naval Intelligence?"

Renni nodded.

Everyone else stiffened slightly at the revelation, and at what it entailed about the most recent addition to their team. Yet the next question wasn't for Renni.

"Irish, I want a second opinion. What do you think?"

While he hadn't been expecting to be put on the spot, Duncan had already formed his own opinions about the update after having reviewed the tutorial several times. "It's top tier, sir. I'm talking end-to-end encryption that puts Icarus class intrusion software like the Loki Suite to shame. Not just anyone can make an update that could climb the language barrier between UNSC Standard English and Covenant lexicography like its no more than a word-puzzle."

"How big a barrier?" The Staff asked.

"Bigger than the Premieres sir. Way bigger. We've been trying to understand their language for years, but it's as if whoever made this had it figured out decades ago."

"Sounds like ONI." The Staff remarked, turning his attention back to Renni. "That at least answers where. Now what about how?"

Renni's hands unconsciously clenched into fists, then unclenched. She remained quiet. Yet the Staff proved unwilling to change topic. As expected, the private broke first.

"I worked for the Office of Naval Intelligence."

It was out in the open now.

No one moved to address the proverbial cobra that had just been laid out on the table of the conversation.

Renni seemed to relax a little, like a solid weight had been removed from her shoulders.

"Which Section?" The Staff asked.

Just as quickly as she began to relax, Renni stiffened again. Unless Duncan was wrong, even though he hadn't been wrong whatsoever in the last two minutes, he would have sworn that it looked as if the Staff had given her the first question that genuinely caught her off guard.

"Sir?"

"In ONI, which Section did you work for?"

She licked her lips in a brief internal counsel. "I-, …can't disclose tha-"

"Deaks."

The summoned corporal shot to his feet with Silver Buddha in hand and stopped a meter shy of Renni. She was wide-eyed by then, glancing between him and Epsilon's leader.

"I know you're new here so I can forgive you for that." The Staff said. "But in the ODSTs there's no room for sideways answers like the one you were just about to give me. I want a straight answer. Which Section did you work for?"

Renni didn't answer.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" Deaks asked. "Can you smile for me, like, a toothy smile? I just want to see something."

The way the corporal was sizing her up went a long way in making Renni's eyes widen further. She looked to the Staff who didn't seem interested in stopping his subordinate.

She breathed out in defeat. "Section II sir. I worked for them during my time in ONI."

The Staff finally nodded to Deaks. He noticeably deflated and walked back to his corner of the room.

"What rank were you back in ONI?"

"…A Lieutenant, 2nd class."

And here was another revelation that threatened to throw Duncan clear off his feet. His mind swam with other questions that were undoubtedly about to be answered.

The Staff's visor depolarized. He was looking her over as if seeing her for the first time. "Really?"

"Yessir."

"Explains how you were able to talk with the Colonel like he was an equal then. In that case, you saying 'yessir' is ironic. Had we met under different circumstances it would be the other way around: I'd be the one saying 'yes mam' to you. And I'm to believe you gave up what was probably a comfortable desk job on Reach and that rank in exchange for a spot in the 105th?"

Renni grimaced, her voice becoming firmer. "Whether you believe it or not sir, that's what I did. After I requested a unit transfer, I was stripped of my rank and became just like any other RCT at Camp Lincoln. No special courtesy was given to me for being a former officer. I had to start from scratch in a field that I wasn't even accustomed to and made it this far." She looked to the weapons of the others. "However, I'm not very sure how much further I'll get."

The Staff nodded in understanding as his gaze fell to the floor. "We're not going to shoot you." His eyes shot up to hers. "Even if you are ONI."

Renni's grimace deepened into one of confusion. "Sir?"

"What do you guys think?" The Staff asked.

"Is there really such a thing as a former ONI agent?" Nova asked with a hint of suspicion as she moved to the Staff's side. "How do we even know your story checks out? Who could we confirm that with?"

"If you ask me, once ONI always ONI." Deaks declared.

"She doesn't look like ONI to me." Yuri interjected.

Deaks rounded on him. "And what does ONI look like to you, Match?"

"Something like Baba Yaga. But this one?" He shook his head. "No, not ugly enough. She might just be big-balls new blood that knows how to scare vets."

Renni held up her hands in her own defense. "Please, understand that I didn't want-"

"Were you sent to spy on us?"

She turned to the Staff who'd asked the question. "Sir?"

"Enough 'sir'. Answer yes or no. Were you sent here to spy on us? Yes or no?"

The chamber returned to silence. Renni noticed that the rest of the squad weren't just watching her. Now they were actively aiming their weapons in her direction. While the barrels were still pointed down at the floor, they could easily whip upwards to set their sights on her at a moment's notice. She took in a few steadying breaths. "No."

The Staff's sharp gaze narrowed, like his eyes alone could pierce her. She met his gaze with a steadfastness that shielded her against its intensity.

A full five seconds elapsed before he spoke again. "Next question. Whether I'll believe your answer to the last one depends on how you answer this one."

Renni remained steadfast under his continued interrogation.

"What purpose did you have in mind when you stole that tech from ONI?

The ODST to which the question was directed stood at solid attention before her superior. "In case this ends up being required for a follow-up, I will provide context. While working for ONI Section II, I played a part in an experimental program that worked on creating a Smartlink update based on the hybrid-intrusion suites that the Office had invented for select 4th Generation AIs. I was given the opportunity to test out a prototype in the field. The test, like many others, was a success. When our results were reviewed and granted commissioning, the software was given to special personnel-"

"Spartans." The Staff said drily.

Again, Renni looked taken aback. "Ye-…yes. Spartans. They utilized it in their operations with resounding success involving more complex Covenant technology, such as information mainframes and control terminals. We have-, ONI had serious technological advances such as these that could change the course of the war lying at their very fingertips."

She stopped with the look of someone who had high hopes for something, only to see them dashed right in front of her. "However, they wouldn't allow them to be issued to the ordinary frontline soldier or even the ODSTs. Different review boards would reject the idea of giving it over, citing a lack of resources or experimental ethics concerns." Her hands clenched into tight fists once more.

Then it was Duncan's turn to be caught off guard as she looked up with an honest fire in her eyes.

"I chose to leave because I realized that ONI wasn't really working to save everyone." Renni said. "We weren't…they weren't trying to help every human being to survive, just the ones they deemed useful. I realized that once I saw what they were capable of versus what they actually did. It was always their Modus Operandi, who was useful to the Office's ends were given what they needed and whoever wasn't, well, what about them? The war just gave them the perfect excuse to execute that guiding philosophy."

"And you stole their stuff because you wanted to help Grunts like us?" The way the Staff said it made it sound more like a statement than a question. "That's all?"

"That's all, sir."

"…Well…you definitely are helping us. Maybe you were right to do it. But what's to stop ONI from figuring out what you did and coming after you for it, and by proxy, coming after us?"

"I wiped all traces of my activities related to my final actions before I went my separate ways with the Office. I even memory wormed the resident AIs so that they couldn't record what I had done in extracting copies of the update from the system."

"And what's to stop them from coming after you once they find out it was distributed to non-certified personnel on Actium?"

"The Colonels."

"…Care to explain?"

"In the time that I went missing I attended a meeting with Colonels Garrison and Mentieth along with Lieutenant Colonel Serakovich. After me and Colonel Garrison convinced them of the plan, they all came to an agreement that should they be questioned, they would provide no information to ONI regarding who gave them the software other than declaring it confidential."

"Confidential, even to ONI?" The Staff couldn't help laughing at the irony. "Those three are something else."

"Yes. Even if they had to take it to an after-action tribunal, that would be their story. However, they also agreed not to tell anyone about the update except the ODST teams that Garrison sent like ours. That means out of every UNSC-affiliated individual currently on Actium, less than a fraction of a percentile actually know of its existence. And even less than that know where it came from."

The Staff's expression changed from a suspicious glare to an unreadable poker face. "Tribunal? Garrison's really willing to take things that far?"

"He is."

"And I guess the reason why he didn't tell us is to preserve our plausible deniability then?"

"That's correct."

"That way if we die out here there'll be less witnesses at his tribunal." Deaks added, still busy plucking teeth from his private corpse. He stopped to tap the bloodied butcher's knife against his helmet in a thinking gesture. "Gotta say, you can never call ole Colonel Gary anything less than a genius."

The Staff ignored him. "Still there's something else I want to be certain about."

Everyone's eyes were on the Staff as he pulled out his shotgun, pumped a single round into the chamber and set it on his lap. "Tell me something Mahonis. Just one more thing."

Renni swallowed. "Sir?"

"Have you ever worked with Spartans?"

"Spartans?"

"Yeah. Anything involving them?"

If they weren't before, the entire squad really was aiming at her. Their sights were set just on the ground at her feet.

The tension reached a crescendo that coalesced around the person standing at its very center. She looked the Staff straight on. "No sir. I haven't worked with the Spartans. Not directly. I only tested part of the software that was later provided to them. That's all."

"And we can trust that?"

"You can quote me on it to the Fleet Admiral himself if you'd like, sir."

One end of the Staff's lips pulled into a smile. Then his whole expression shifted from skepticism to a renewed calmness, changing the atmosphere of the room entirely. He got up, slapped his shotgun onto his harness and walked up to her with a calculated saunter. He held out a hand. "Consider this your official squad introduction. Welcome to Epsilon, Private Mahonis."

Duncan noticed that he didn't call her Ep-10 then. She probably would have noticed it as well. Briefly uncertain, she ventured to take his hand and shook it.

"Mito, keep an eye out because we haven't done yours yet."

At the Staff's words the private, who had spent most of the time not aiming at anyone and looking quietly confused, straightened up. "Ugh-, I-, I'm not getting that same kind, am I?"

"Not necessarily." Nova said, depolarizing. "Sometimes we throw people into pools of boiling water. Other times we question them at gunpoint. Hopefully, you'll get the easier one of those two." She watched the private shiver a little and gave Duncan a suggestive wink. Duncan only shook his head at what terrible images she had probably just planted into Mito's mind.

The Staff whipped out his assault rifle again and made for the last door. "On your feet, Epsilon. We're moving out. We've spent too much time here as it is."

"I thought you said we had time?" Renni asked.

"We did. Now we don't."

He left for the door, twisted the wheel handle and pulled it open. The squad started getting up and following after him.

Duncan checked the timer on his HUD. From what he could tell they had already spent 10 minutes talking in the sewer. When the Staff initially approached them in the HMPD's armory about what he planned to do, he had mentioned 15 minutes. So they had at least saved 5 minutes thanks to what Nova called the Staff's expert 'people skills'. As he walked past Renni, he could only grimace at a glaring fact. There was no longer a way to escape the Office now that they had a self-proclaimed 'former agent' literally on the team. And Duncan still had his doubts of how much of an ex-Oni Agent she happened to be. At the most he was relieved that she didn't seem to have any major connections to the Spartans. That brought with it its own relief. But then there was always the chance that she secretly knew or could at least piece together what they had done if she really considered some of the Staff's questions. For the time-being he was resigned to keep an eye on her, like everyone else was probably going to from here on out.

The last 10 minutes had to have been some of the most intense of Renni's life. Her mind was still adrift in all the different things she'd been asked.

Two questions stuck out the most. The first was when the Staff asked her which Section she had worked for. Most outside personnel knew little about ONI beyond what the three letters stood for. The rest was often conjecture. It was the same even for many of the most high-ranking UNSC officers. Yet the Staff was somehow familiar with their internal organization up to the point that he believed her when she told him that she had worked for Section II specifically. She could have just as easily said Section A or Section Yellow and it would have fooled him all the same if he didn't truly know what she was talking about. But he did. How?

The next thing that bothered her were his questions about her involvement or lack thereof with the Spartans. It had prompted the most noticeable reaction from the rest of the squad. It showed in the way everyone looked ready to shoot her then and there, everyone except Mito. He was the only other new addition so he was relatively in the same boat as her in not knowing much about the squad's history. Then why were the original members so ready to cut her down in regard to a unit that many other ODSTs viewed with marked scorn? Or maybe that was it. Did they want to shoot her simply because, for all they knew, she might have helped create their greatest rivals? The tension between the Spartans and ODSTs was not an unknown phenomena. It was only new to troopers that hadn't heard the stories about Spartans or had yet to meet them on the battlefield. It took time for certain tales to reach some corners of the galaxy. Yet when they did, they spread like wildfire, especially when Spartans were in the same general locale as a unit of shock troopers.

Maybe that really was it. But it didn't explain how the Staff knew so much about ONI.

Renni sufficed that she didn't know or have the time to find out right now as the squad moved for the door. Still, she knew the others had their suspicions of her. Now the feeling was mutual. For the sake of the mission at least, she hoped they could both put aside those feelings.

She watched Hector and Rico approach her, this time from the front.

Hector held out her SMG and the two frags. "Here you go, Ms. ONI-lady."

"Ms. ONI-lady?" Renni wasn't sure she liked the nickname. However, it didn't seem like one needed to like a nickname for it to stick. Iris had his own, along with Mastovich. She figured that maybe letting them call her what they wanted was probably the only route she had at the moment to regaining some measure of their trust. She took her belongings back.

"Enjoy it cause you're stuck with it." Hector said, almost reading her thoughts. He patted her on the shoulder and walked on.

"Don't worry, drop enough Covenant and save enough of our lives and we might just be tempted to like you again." Yuri said and held the handle of her M6 out to her. She reached for it, but before she could grab it, he swiveled the gun around in his hand to aim the barrel at her. "Emphasis on might." He held her there for a second then spun it back around. After a palpable hesitation, she slowly grasped the handle and took it from him.

When her Smartlink connected to the weapon she discovered it now had a full clip of ammo. At the time it was confiscated, her M6 barely had 3 rounds left in it.

"Um, sorry…did you give me an extra clip?"

Yuri turned and walked backwards to the door. "You won't be very good combat medic with no ammo, will you? Serves you right for not coming to armory with us."

"…Thanks."

"Pozhaluysta. Now come on before you get left alone in the crapper."

Renni couldn't help laughing a little under her breath at what was apparently a show of kindness in the middle of an overwhelmingly hostile day. She took one last look around, clipped her pistol to her thigh bracer and jogged after the others.

Curiositas - Curiosity


	47. Battle of Actium - Chapter 9 (Princeps)

Chapter 9 – Princeps

(7th Cycle, 83 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

In low orbit over Caerleon, Republic of Preveza

Aboard DDS Class Carrier Ascendant Justice

:********:

Supreme Commander Thel Vadumee was reminded of his own inward frustrations every time he passed by a window with an outward view. The sight of the human city less than 10 kilometers below was one that naturally made him wish to react in a manner akin to gagging around the obscenely foul excrement of some wild animal. For the last week or more he had been forced to contain his own revulsion at the vile sights of this human world for the sake of a far greater purpose, one he hoped would prove useful to the cause of the Covenant.

Each time he came up to a window he felt both disgust and curiosity driving him to look outside. Disgust because he had to be so near something that he wished to burn. Curiosity because he wanted to see why it was that he couldn't burn it.

The human's planetary capital of Caerleon was built along the western coast. Its near infinite number of structures started out at the edge of a long-running cliff-face before expanding out across the surrounding plains in a kind of multi-layered floral pattern. That still wasn't the extent of the settlement. Many parts of the city were divided by what he understood to be ancient underwater canyons that had been dredged up by the humans to make room for more structures. In doing so, they created kilometers deep valleys of urban edifices and roadways. Large surface bridges connected over these canyons to reach other parts of the city, topping off its appearance of a cracked flower.

There were two reasons for the cause of not destroying it all. The first was easily understandable: his forces were down there. Not long after breaking through the planet's defenses he sent his warriors to descend upon the cities of the western continent of Preveza. They had swept through the lands below like a raging tide, cutting down all who stood in their path along with any left in sight that still dared to breath. Those same forces were now occupying the coastal cities along with the settlements and regions of the continent's interior, their entire purpose for being there resting on the second cause.

The second was inarguably the most important. This world called Actium was given special protection by his superiors due to what had been discovered in the east shortly after their arrival. For the discovery's sake, this whole world was being spared…for now.

Considering what was found in the east, Thel went well out of his way to have the western continent of Preveza's interior sifted like bundles of irukan in the hands of a determined farmer. For the last several days now, he had listened to reports from Covenant interior patrols that were scouring for signs of anything out of the ordinary, anything of distinguishably divine origins. In his fervor he had gone so far as to deploy a unit of Devoted Sentries to search regions of particular interest under his personal direction from the bridge of the Ascendant Justice. If anyone would find what he was seeking in the west, it would be them.

But so far no one had, and now Thel found his attention directed elsewhere.

The counteroffensive being presently undertaken by the remaining humans on this world was only mildly unexpected, not unprecedented. They had done something quite similar in scale back on the first planet they encountered them on which Covenant officers at the time had so misguidedly believed to be their only world. If only they had known how wrong they really were.

It was simply mildly unexpected due to the fact that half of the Covenant forces on the planet were not being deployed as efficiently as they otherwise could have been. That was not his own fault. However, he was careful not to lay blame on his superiors either, even in the inner counsels of his mind. Rather, he fully ascribed the blame to the other leader of the righteous throngs fighting on this world, a Sangheili who had failed to uphold his part in the duality of leadership that they had both received from on high.

From the very start the Fleet of Particular Justice had been deployed to Actium as one of two fleets sent to secure it for a reason that was initially completely unrelated to the most recent discovery. Thel's fleet was purposed to take the western hemisphere while the other was meant to handle the east. 'Handle the east' was the key phrase there, because for the better part of their entire time here, the other fleet had been doing anything and everything other than that simple task.

It was that growing concern that was driving him down the long passage leading back to the bridge while deluging his most efficient Fleetmaster with his well-considered contemplations of the other leader.

"He is a fool."

"Or perhaps you are wiser than he is."

"That is no excuse. One who simply lacks wisdom seeks it out. A fool does not desire any wisdom whatsoever but revels in his own ignorance."

"And you are certain that he is reveling?"

Thel didn't know how much he appreciated Ruca's fair and balanced defense of one he deemed an inadequate invalid. He also wondered why he would defend someone like who they were discussing. After all, Thel wasn't the only one who had experience with this particular character. "Because he has yet to answer any of my hails since we reached this world. That is how I know he revels, and thereby is a fool."

Ruca, dressed in his golden combat harness, bowed his head in respect as they walked. "Then maybe he is one."

"No, not maybe. He is."

"Then why would he be given his position? Wouldn't those that bestowed it upon him know not to entrust this sacred endeavor with a…what you say that he is?"

"Because in their wisdom they sought to test me." Thel said through tight mandibles. "That is all the reason my decrepit mind can conjure as to why they, of such high understanding, would assign him to carry out something so vital to our aims."

"…What if it was not so?" Ruca asked, grasping his lower jaws in thought. "What if they, in their wisdom, decided not to test you, or at least not only you, but also sought to test him? Perhaps they wanted to see his capabilities as a leader of the faithful come into full bloom."

Thel felt his upper-right mandible twitch as he side-eyed the Fleetmaster. "You have… much faith."

"In they that are greater? Yes."

"I meant in one who does not deserve it."

"I have no affinity in me for him, Supreme Commander. You of all would know that best. That said, I do have an affinity for sanctified declarations."

"Yet by that very same affinity, even you would have to accept that there is also a chance they wished to test him knowing full-well that he would fail, and that I would be required to take up his task in his place."

"But then why would they dispatch him knowing that only you were required?"

Thel sighed as they finally reached the door at the end of the passage. "Why indeed."

The two Majors standing to the sides stood at rigid attention as the door cycled open for them. Thel's signatory purple cape was the last to cross the threshold before the door shut behind them.

The Justice' bridge abounded with the activities of half-a-dozen bridge officers reviewing the ship's various external and internal readouts as well as manipulating holographic control displays emitted over their stations. It was a full-time occupation to manage a vessel like the Justice, a flagship more than deserving of the careful and deliberate oversight that it was currently receiving. Seeing the bridge crew diligently at work would be a marvel to the eye of any untrained civilian or aspiring officer. Thel didn't even take notice.

He moved straight for the ramp of the central command platform with the Fleetmaster at his side.

On the way up, Thel called down to one of the communication's officers below. "Has he responded yet?"

"He has, Supreme Commander." The officer replied. "He is waiting for you now."

Thel winced. He glanced at Ruca who's returned expression told him he shared the same surprise as he did.

Ruca nodded and stayed back on the ramp as Thel continued up to the center pf the command platform. He stood straight, his mandibles flexing in and out in thought. "Activate the display. Bring him on."

At his order, the other communication's officer went to work tapping one of the clusters of icons gravitating above his station. A moment later the forward projection screen activated.

Standing on the other side was another Sangheili dressed in the same golden combat harness and purple cape which established him as Thel's only other equal on the planet. Equal only in rank, he thought. The other Supreme Commander stood on a kind of segmented upper-command platform within an ovular chamber that looked distinguishably different from any ship's bridge, which it likely was not.

In the split-second before the other spoke, Thel noticed the dulled ire in his eyes and realized that they were both observing each other with looks of tiredness and subdued derision.

"Supreme Commander Vadumee, for what purpose do I have the honor of receiving your hail?"

Thel hated the fact that he addressed him so calmly and officiously, as if he were the one being annoyed at his counterpart's actions. "Hails." Thel corrected. "I tried to contact you on multiple occasions before our present meeting. This is merely the first attempt to prove successful in garnering your attention, Supreme Commander Niccoramee."

Thel briefly wondered if Ruca had noticed the modicum of respect he was still willing to pay to one he declared an unrepentant fool. Perhaps it proved more so to himself that he was far more merciful than he'd ever realized.

"I have been rather busy of late." Niccoramee said. "You have my sincere apologies for not responding to…whatever it happens to be that your concerns pertain to."

Thel felt his hands and jaws clench in irritation. He held back the roaring fury that he had kept bottled in for days on end to keep it from creeping into his voice. "My concern is for the sake of our holy task, for the preservation of our success on this world, something you seem not to have concerned yourself with too heavily as of late." He nearly spat out the last three words.

Niccoramee mantained his vaguely unamused countenance. "Would you wish to elaborate on the contexts of those concerns that I seem to be blind too, because as far as my knowledge can discern, I have dedicated my entire time, day and night to carrying out the work we were sent to fulfill."

"Dedicated?" Thel felt his mask of respect slip, but he no longer cared to fix it back into place. "Allow me to remove the blinders from your eyes so that you can see the world as I do. I have watched as your attempts at uprooting the last human garrisons on the northern continent proved feeble. So feeble in fact that it gave them the chance to rally against you, leading to our current predicament."

"My purpose was not to wipe them out." Niccoramee protested. "Only to delay them. My fleet had achieved such great successes in the east that in the end we corralled most of their forces in the north. That had the added consequence of making it so that their defensive capacities were more concentrated and made them more difficult to flush out. If anything, this little show they are putting on now diffuses their fighting capabilities and makes their remaining elements easier to dispatch."

"But their earlier condition was nothing a well-coordinated low orbital bombardment couldn't handle well in advance."

The accusation was solid, its foundations reasoned through hours of frustrated contemplation. Niccoramee had to know exactly what he was talking about, and it showed in the manner in which his lower mandibles slightly split aside in visible indignation.

"My ships were elsewhere."

"Elsewhere from where they needed to be." It felt almost sweet to the taste in saying those words to the one he wished to address them. "Had you sent ships to support your Northern efforts then they would have easily overcome the last holdouts of filth located there. You did not. Even now the forces on the coastline of the eastern continent are under siege with no major air support in sight for them save for that which belongs to the enemy. You could send your vessels now to conquer the force in the east and push them back. You have not. I simply fail to see why. Your fleet is far larger than my own and you have yet to send out even a single battlecruiser to the aid of your own warriors."

"…You are right." Niccoramee said in a tone that Thel could discern was not true admittance. "My fleet 'is' larger than yours, isn't it? Perhaps that is why I was given the lead on this mission. They who are higher than you or I saw my discernment as the most necessary for this work. In that discernment, I have deemed it necessary for not one or two but all of my ships to attend to the duty that was set for them. I have chosen to have my fleet operate in obedience to the holy words that gave us our direction."

"You were not given any such lead." Thel growled.

"Then why am I the one carrying out the holy work while your command remains idle?"

Thel glanced back over his shoulder at Ruca who still stood on the ramp, watching the entire exchange. He remarked to himself in a low voice, "Why indeed." He turned back to see that Niccoramee's eyes had narrowed into a gaze that sparked with barely contained pride. It made his blood boil in his very veins.

"My ships are not idle. Even now they carry out their holy mandate in fighting the human invasion forces sent to the west, at their cities of New Athens and Patras. Even now we are holding over this world's capital in preparation for their final invasion. And what of the east? Who commands your captured coastal cities?"

Thel knew his fellow commander wouldn't last a moment in this arena of the conversation, and while it had its tactical benefits, he mostly just wanted to watch him squirm for an answer.

"I have my Field Marshalls in place."

He scorned that simple answer to no end. "From the reports given to me, the only thing that is happening in those territories is the construction of hovels and nests for the Unggoy, Kig-Yar and the Yanme'e. Would you like to explain to me how that aids in their defense?"

"I would, if you would humor me." Niccoramee said and gave a mocking bow of his head.

Thel withheld his scowl. "Go ahead."

"The Unggoy, the Kig-Yar and the Yanme'e all have something in common other than a shared faith. It is a shared desire to have their own homes, abodes built on warm soil rather than the cold metal of the Holy City's lower levels. While they may not wish to share the same abode, this much is certain, that when faced with an enemy, these species whose faithfulness is generally less than that of the Sangheili will fight just as hard as Sangheili to defend their new homes. They will be far more ferocious than anything we've ever witnessed before."

"You're certain of that? Then who holds the reigns of those forces considering that they are faltering across the coast?"

"They are holding their ground." Niccoramee insisted. "For instance, in the eastern capital I have my greatest Field Marshall making preparations to wipe out the infestation there."

"The eastern capital? You mean the very same one where a third of the city fell back into human hands just this morning? That capital? Do keep in mind that if that city falls then your entire coastal defense will buckle."

A grimace flashed across the other Supreme Commander's face that was quickly restrained. "Why don't you allow me to take care of my affairs while you resolve yours? That way we both can focus on our own issues without getting in each other's way."

Thel formed his upper mandibles into a smirk at what was a contrivedly polite way of saying 'mind your own business'. "The reason I cannot do that, Niccoramee, is because your affairs are spilling over into mine. I already had the west under my control. However, you made the decision not to finish off the humans when you had the chance. Now their reinforcements have pushed you out of the north and in turn they are trying to retake the entire planet. Don't you see? I cannot handle my own affairs conclusively when someone else' keeps intervening."

There was silence for a moment as the two commanders gazed upon each other, as one great power stared down another. Then Niccoramee closed his eyes and shook his head, laughing. "My, how jealousy can cloud the eyes of one so adamant that they can see. So what would you do if it were you-"

"You already know my answer." Thel said, cutting him off with a tone that lacked any humor whatsoever. His eyes turned to an iron seriousness that offered room for no other emotion. "Now, what of the prophet in your care?"

"Prophet?"

"The Minister of Iconography. I know he is somewhere in the eastern capital."

Niccoramee's expression hardened but he didn't answer.

"Don't tell me you do not even know where-"

"He is safe." Niccoramee said, his own tone taking on a similar unyieldingness. "My Field Marshall protecting that city assured me as much. That is all I am willing to tell you. Does that dissatisfy you?" He leaned closer, as if daring him to say that it did.

"I would hope it satisfies the prophet." Thel retorted without a measure of sounding intimidated. "You have chosen not to send any meaningful reinforcements to protect a city where a holy one resides." His eyes narrowed. "This is my final warning to you, Beorda. It is in your best interests that you deploy your ships to the coast, to ensure his safety at the very least, unless you are so caught up with your little projects that you could care less about what happens to a Prophet."

Thel watched as Niccoramee straightened and every guise of cordiality seemingly evaporated behind a barely contained, boiling anger. "Watch your tongue, Thel. I would not call what I am doing in the east 'little', not by any measure of the mortal imagination. I would show you but your mind could not perceive it. Be careful, less that same mind should lead you to again blaspheme the work ordained by those who stand at the very feet of the Gods. Be grateful, because I will show you enough mercy not to speak of that insult to them when they review my work. And be wary, because I may very well not be so merciful the next time we speak."

Thel was not impressed, not by any measure of his mortal imagination. Still, he could tell when he was being threatened and offered one of his own. "If we speak again."

Niccoramee's grimace only deepened. However, before he could make his retort, one of the communication's officers on the Justice's bridge spoke up. "Supreme Commander, a human battlegroup has been detected approaching the western capital!"

Thel slowly turned his attention away from the display to the officer. "Numbers and distance?"

"Twelve ships. Eight of their heavy frigates and four of their destroyers at attack vectors 2-0-0 by 3-2-0, 2-0-5 by 3-1-2 and 2-2-7 by 3-7-5. The nearest ships are less than 50 kilometers away from the coast and closing."

Another communication's officer added on. "A conglomeration of 30 more ships is moving 50 kilometers into the upper-atmosphere along the coastline. It appears the vermin intend to flank us from above and behind."

Thel turned back to the display. "I believe we are done here."

"I believe we are." Niccoramee said in a tired voice. His feed winked off while the display remained active. Thel huffed at realizing that the other commander had shut off his own feed first. He turned to Ruca. "Well?"

"He is certainly reveling. I know I said I had no affinity for him before. Now I'm certain."

Thel nodded and started issuing orders to the rest of the bridge crew. At his issuances, the officers began getting to work sending out alerts to the rest of the fleet in the immediate vicinity of Caerleon including where they were to setup defensive positions in the atmosphere.

In less than a minute another feed winked onto the display, showing the face of the fully armed and fully armored Field Marshall Arzon Zotamee. It appeared that he had setup his holotank on the roof a skyscraper, granting them a wide view of the surrounding city. He bowed his head. "Supreme Commander Vadumee, you requested me?"

"Yes. Human forces are on their way to Caerleon. I want you to ready your warriors. The enemy will be arriving to your shores soon. Dispatch them on the ground while we handle them from the air. Is that understood?"

Zotamee bowed his head further. "We will fight with honor and distinction. I swear on the holiness of our cause, they will not take this city."

"Good. You're dismissed."

Once the screen had dissipated, Thel rounded on Ruca. "I swear, Sangheili like Niccoramee are a curse upon the good name of our kind. It would be easier if he perished, even if it had to be at the hands of the humans."

"But perhaps someone like him will fool us and show that he is quite competent in secret."

"False humility is not becoming of a Fleetmaster, Voramee."

"Indeed, it is not. I ask for your forgiveness. However, I am not of sufficient rank to be able to wish death upon my equals."

"No, not yet. Soon. For now, I will need you to handle the human naval forces heading directly for Caerleon. They must have been waiting until that earlier storm passed. Now they are seizing their opportunity. You must stop them in their tracks before they reach positions that can cause us further trouble."

Ruca stood at due attention. "My Subfleet is ready and able." He met Thel's gaze with his own firm countenance. "I will not fail you."

The Supreme Commander nodded. "I know you will not. Move swiftly, and may the Gods bless you with victory."

"They already have, now I have only to claim it." Ruca turned astutely and made for the door.

Thel watched it close behind him. A short while later he watched on his display as the Fleetmaster's Phantom dropship left one of the Justice' hangers. An entourage of four Seraph fighters escorted it back to the cluster of ships patrolling directly over the capital.

He knew that Ruca truly wouldn't fail him. After what had happened at Miridem, his subordinate had derived more than a few lessons from his mistakes. For some time, he had been eager to apply what he had learned. Now he had his chance to show the humans the wrath capable of a sharpened mind and an unyielding will.

He gave further orders for the Ascendant Justice and the remaining ships of the Subfleets of Ardent Admonishment and Swift Repentance to follow his lead in intercepting the human ships flanking through the mesosphere. However, as they ascended to greater heights, he found his attention drawn back to the east.

In a certain respect it didn't matter what he accomplished here. As long as Niccoramee was intent on ignoring the situation developing on the eastern coastline, there would still be a chance of disaster striking, however slim he or the other Supreme Commander believed it to be.

Niccoramee had called him blind, but throughout much of his meaningless rhetoric, Thel had observed a pattern. From it he slowly came to understand what drove him. It was easy to comprehend, mostly because it was a spiritual ailment that was sadly common in the Covenant. And of all the species comprising its glorious ranks it was most prevalent in the hearts of his people, the Sangheili. They were a species of great pride. To doubt that was akin to doubting that the stars shone light on all the universe or that gravity held everything in place. Yet by having such great pride it also left them the most vulnerable out of any species to their greatest weakness:

Hubris.

He recognized its kindling embers in Niccoramee's voice and its spark in his eyes, proving it had caught alight on the wick of his soul. It was not so hard to believe given the immensity of the task delegated to him. However, it was that same work that he found worthy of bragging, making high claims that Thel should not speak ill of him less his tongue incur the due ire of the Gods. For one to believe they were so deeply in the good graces of the divine was cause enough for worry, especially given his actions or lack thereof in defending the east.

Nevertheless, what worried him most was that Niccoramee had in fact accused him of blaspheming against the Gods. But if what Thel was imagining might happen ultimately came to pass, then perhaps he would not be the only one deserving of divine wrath.

Princeps - Leader


	48. Battle of Actium - Chapter 10 (Divinam voluntatem)

Chapter 10 - Divinam voluntatem

(7th Cycle, 79 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)

Intersystem Space

Covenant Holy City High Charity

Sanctum of the Hierarchs

:********:

There was never a city as beautiful or as cherished as the one which Thel laid his eye on, nor would there ever be one more surpassing in beauty. What majesty could match it? Which keep on Sanghelios or fort on any other planet could rival it? It was a rhetorical question that one only attempted to answer if they were a fool, and would be proven as such by their retort, for truly there was no city more filled with splendor than High Charity.

The city, given its size, was much more like a planet, its bulk alone generating a natural gravitational field that often gathered cosmic debris from whatever system it resided in. It was an irony of existential proportions then that the holy city drew the refuse of existence unto itself. Thel had always seen it as a lesson to the wise: that that which is sanctified must contend with that which defiles. Said defilement was certainly dealt with by the vaporizing capabilities of a few dozen ships of the hundreds that comprised High Charity's Defense Fleet. An impressive myriad of battlecruisers, frigates, corvettes and carriers circled around the bulbous circumference of the city like a flock of Electric Kesh, accompanying it wherever it journeyed and stopping where it stopped. So much defensive firepower was resident here that it almost made one dare to step onto a line of thought that was the road to heresy, for such was its glory that it naturally made one begin to believe it so: not even the Gods could destroy this place.

Humility naturally kept one from that road. It was an understanding that all that the Covenant had and were was due to the benevolence of the Gods. Their weapons, armor and vessels were all gifts given by the wisdom of their creators through the interpretative instruction of the Prophets. Even the holy ship that stood at the beating heart of the artificial planetoid was one not of their making, but of their masters'. So how could one boast of that which came about solely through the derivation of the divine? No, only a fool would dare to answer that question in a way that did not leave him humbled.

Thel was always left awestruck by the sights he witnessed each time he came here, especially when it came to his first pilgrimage. However, its surrounding majesty, for the first time, did not hold his attention.

Each stride he took down the expansiveness of the main hall led him irrevocably closer to the door at its very end, and beyond that, his judgement.

He had left behind his cloak as was tradition for any Sangheili officer meeting with the Holy Ones. It was a sign of inward admission and submission, admitting to the presence of the greater wisdom and authority indwelt within them and submitting to their wisdom and authority.

In doing so he became much more like the thirty Honor Guards that stood watch, fifteen on each side of the passage. They were dressed in their ornate red armor with yellow accents that were unique to them. They represented the most elite, chosen from among the strongest Sangheili to serve in the righteous cause of defending the Prophets and any of noble esteem in the High Council. Each guardsman stood at attention beside one of the room's levitating, decorative columns that rotated over gravity repulsion units. With their imposing energy staves in hand, even just one of them would be enough to take on Thel. Their duty to protect the chosen representatives of the Gods was one taken to the upmost seriousness and he doubted a single one of them would not sacrifice their life for that cause. While he certainly wasn't a threat, he made sure to look straightforward so as not to illicit their suspicion. The Guardsmen were all mostly looking in the opposite direction from where they stood. None were paying him any mind, none except a single guard further up to his right.

Thel noticed that one of them was tracking him without moving his head, leaving his eyes to observe his movements. He briefly wondered if the warrior had seen something that gave him cause for worry. He hadn't brought any weapons with him as per the custom. Yet that didn't stop the other Sangheili from watching him closely.

It took him getting closer to the guard to realize that he wasn't actually watching him with suspicion, but curiosity. There was a look of intrigue written on his face. His jaws shifted as if he had something he wanted to say, only to ultimately hold in whatever was on his mind.

Thel directed his attention back to the door on the end once he passed the guard. He reached where the last two Honor Guards stood to either side. They nodded to him as the door receded open. He returned the gesture of respect, knowing for certain that he had their permission to approach those that awaited him inside.

He headed up a short incline where the two guards stationed at the top let him pass without issue.

He came out into a large, circular chamber.

The first thing to greet him was the view. A sizable, semicircular window comprised the far wall on the other side. Beyond it was the sereneness of open space with the distant glowing orb of the nearest star, one of countless others that dotted the darkness of the galaxy. Many of the stars regularly winked out and back into sight as the throngs of Covenant ships patrolling around High Charity moved into place between them.

The space within the Inner Sanctum possessed a purple sheen comprised of laminate architectural ingenuity of only the finest quality. The floor patterns seemingly rippled out from a dais-like holotank built at the center. The device itself was subsequently encircled by three ornamental pillars that rose up from the floor akin to the pincers of a metal claw piercing vulnerable flesh.

Even all the room's splendor could not stop Thel from recognizing the three occupants sitting around the holotank for who's sake it had been constructed. He immediately fell to a knee and bowed his head.

Shortly thereafter the room's three occupants must have noticed him. He heard the low warble of their anti-gravity chairs as they came closer.

A firm and wise voice spoke. "Rise, Vadumee."

Thel did as requested.

In the process of redemption, there were three steps. One of them was regret. After an action of sin or heresy was committed it must be atoned for by the one that committed it. For them to do so they would have to reconsider their actions and come to regret them.

The Prophet of Regret was the manifestation of that principle. Although the youngest of the Triumvirates, being so by a century to the oldest' senior, he still possessed wisdom that could detect when a wrong against the Gods or a failure against the Covenant was made. It was that sharp attention that guided his even sharper tongue in calling out any deemed inadequacies within the ranks of their holy cause and demanding a swift response to it. There was also a chance that it was simple brashness as he was one known for his affinity for the Sangheili, an unusual trait for a San'Shyuum. It was known that out of his admiration for Thel's kind he even kept a plasma pistol hidden on his person. If Thel made one wrong move then the Prophet could easily kill him where he stood. Regret's harsh, scrutinizing gaze gave the Supreme Commander little cause for ease.

Next came Mercy. After one has come to regret their sin, they must turn to the Gods and seek after their benevolence in the hope of receiving their gracious mercy. That way the price of their error would be removed from their soul's account in the eyes of the eternal.

The Prophet of Mercy embodied this understanding. Being the oldest of the three High Prophets, he bore the brunt of time's consequence in the form of his white eyelashes and snowy facial hair. Despite his apparent age he was renowned as being among the liveliest and most knowledgeable of the San'Shyuum. His passion for the heavenly ran all the way back to the days before they were a Triumvirate, when he was better known as the philologist, leading the order of the ascetic priests that both worshipped and examined the intricacies of the holy ship. Since then his passion had not wavered where his body had and he observed the Supreme Commander before him with a gentle glint of interest in his eyes.

However, before one could reach the step of regret or even attain the final stage of mercy, they first had to be enlightened with the truth. One could not know they have sinned where there is no recognition of truth and thus gain no understanding of what has been violated. Without truth, there could be no regret and thus no mercy.

Such was the final member of the Triumvirate, the Prophet of Truth.

He was easily the most influential of the three and the most stoic. It was said that he had led the present Hierarchs to their position through a means of manipulation, or rather, an act of intervention against those that came before. He shared some of Mercy's gray hairs and some of Regret's directness, but in a way that made those features merge together into a harmonious balance of capable age and sharpened ambition. His calm and collected demeanor betrayed no hint of emotion save that of calculated examination as he observed Thel.

Together the three Hierarchs levitated in their thrones before him with their ceremonial garbs. While the hand of one was not strong enough to kill even the weakest Unggoy, a single wave of that hand could command the will of entire star systems. Their slouched bodies bore the weight of their glowing, gold headpieces that extended back to their shoulders and rose up into an ornate, triangular pattern. The decorations were meant to symbolize the weight of the Covenant Empire that rested upon their shoulders, and whose pursuance of the Great Journey relied upon every sentence, word and syllabic intonation that proceeded from their very mouths.

It was Truth that had spoken first, and he spoke again in a raspy voice that was somehow still strong and fluid.

"There is much to discuss and little time with which to discuss it. I pray you will be of an understanding mind when we tell you of the task to which you have been appointed."

Thel finally brought his eyes up to meet Truth's. "I will do as you instruct in accordance with my oath, Noble Hierarchs."

"According to our station, all without exception." Truth said, as if considering the words. "Then let us hope that there is no need for any such exception in your station or ours."

That much caught Thel's attention, although he made sure not to show his interest. Still he wondered what the Prophets had summoned him for, and as they turned about in their chairs with a graceful swivel, he knew that he was soon to find out.

He wordlessly followed their lead towards the central holotank.

"The task at hand is a tremendous one and poses either one of the greatest benefits or delays to our war against the humans." Truth said. "It will require your fullest dedication to ensure that it becomes the former and not the latter. Here we have come to review whether you and another possess the conviction to carry it out."

Another? Possess the conviction? Those words created a small abscess in Thel's racing mind. What was meant by them could only be guessed at without a direct question, something which he feared to ask but knew it was required. "My apologies, Hierarch. By what measure do you intend to gauge my conviction?"

Instead of Truth, it was Regret who stopped to turn in his chair and answer him. "We intend to see under which auspices you will conduct yourself in this matter before we give it over to you and the other Supreme Commander.

There it was again, the other Supreme Commander. Thel bowed his head further. "May I inquire, holy ones, as to the identity of this other commander?"

The Prophets had no need to answer. One of the room's several entrances did instead by cycling open. The visage of another Sangheili stood on the other side.

Thel's eyes widened at the figure dressed in the same golden combat harness as his, only with its signatory purple cloak still in place. The face within the helmet was all too familiar.

Thel's jaws clenched in anger at the lack of respect it took to arrive so late, and to also show so little humility by wearing his cloak. He considered whipping out his energy sword and skewering the officer where he stood, but he remembered that he was unarmed. Then a memory flashed through his mind. It was of an incident years ago where he found himself and another Sangheili, his close subordinate named Zhar, bowing before the Prophets of Truth and Regret who were in the midst of deciding their fate. At hearing their final judgment, Zhar had chosen the path of shame and dared to draw his sword against the prophets. Thel had stopped him, had drawn his sword on his comrade, his friend, right then and there. In doing so he had garnered himself the mercy of the holy ones. But in truth it was just one half of himself, that which was bound to honor the oath taken to the Covenant, that brought him to cut down the very last of his command at the time. The other half of him wanted to stay bowed and let Zhar attempt to kill the prophets, even to support him against the Honor Guards that protected them, all for the sake of revenge for what had been done to the two and would be done to silence them. Even so, the other half won out and it saw him spared at the cost of his friend's own life.

He had sacrificed his attachment for his duty. Now he wished to do it again due to the detrimental attachment that came in the form of knowing Supreme Commander Beorda Niccoramee. He sought to kill him for his show of disrespect, but Regret's ire moved faster.

The Prophet scowled as the other Sangheili stepped over the threshold and kneeled down. "What show of respect is this, Niccoramee? Do you not know how to show the proper reverence in our presence?"

Niccoramee had no answer. He didn't need to as the Prophet of Mercy spoke up. "Surely it is of no consequence. A robe does not determine humility, Regret, but a heart willing to submit bears such fruit as to cause one naturally to bow. And he bows. Is that not enough?"

"It is not." Regret said, pointing disapprovingly at the commander. "You, take off your cloak."

"No." The interjection came from Truth who held up a dismissive hand. "There is no need, not now, not with a matter such as this to discuss. We need both brevity and reverence, but brevity more so." He turned to the Sangheili. "Come, Commander Niccoramee, and stand with us."

Niccoramee stood up and walked forward. As he did, he caught Thel's gaze. There was a flash of enmity between the two in an invisible clash of wills that neither of the Hierarchs seemed to detect as they all settled around the holotank.

With a low thrum the device activated and emitted the image of a three-dimensional world that abounded with oceans and landforms. In its slow, leftward rotation Thel could discern the presence of at least five continents. The two largest ones lay to the east and west and were separated by a large sea. The third largest lay to the south of the western landmass followed by the fourth which lay on the other side of the globe, nestled between the two largest ones via massive straits. Finally, there was what looked like an island-continent in the northeast, just above the eastern continent. A series of tropical archipelagos spotted the oceans near the equator while more icy islands dominated the arctic seas near the poles.

Truth held out a hand in a gracious, offering gesture towards the holograph. "This is the human world called Actium. An Intelligence and Interdiction group managed to uncover the coordinates to this location several units ago. While its exact population is unknown, it is sure to have a heavy human presence on its surface. Preliminary observations suggest as much."

More images appeared, these ones being two-dimensional. They portrayed the orbital view of human cities with abundant structures and traffic passing through a nighttime setting. Thel felt his irritation for Beorda replaced by the loathsome sight before him. Then that too was replaced with a kind of elation. It became obvious that the Hierarchs had called him here for the special task of erasing this next human planet. Still, they could have simply passed on the coordinates and the orders to him via long range communication. So why did they order him to come here personally and brought Niccoramee in as well?

Truth answered the question before it was ever asked. "Though this world can simply be cleansed with the work of one individual fleet, there was something else of note that prompted this session."

The Prophet maneuvered his hand, causing the image of the planet to rotate and zoom in on a location on the eastern continent. It was well within the far-off interior, isolated from any human settlements by hundreds of kilometers. A single symbol appeared there: that which identified a reliquary.

Thel felt himself stop breathing, his lungs suddenly heavy.

"The ship that passed by this world managed to conduct a rushed scan of the eastern continent with its luminary. It discovered the existence of this reliquary here. We still do not know its general size or purpose. However, being one of the Gods' creations, it will be searched nonetheless for relics."

Mercy turned on the supreme commanders, taking over for Truth. "Your purpose will be to discover what is presently housed within this reliquary, to obtain and study it. This will be the task of only one of you while the other focuses entirely on glassing the remainder of the planet after you have both laid waste to the human forces. Consider well that these orders to destroy the rest of this human colony may be countermanded by our personal direction should information gathered from this reliquary lead us to greater revelations about the rest of the planet."

Thel winced. There were now more subjects of interest on the table, such as the fact that the special task of securing this bounty of the Gods would only fall to one of them. He didn't feel ready to address it directly yet and instead moved to his next concern. "Revelations?"

Regret spoke. "It's simple, Vadumee. If something is found there that indicates the existence of other relics or reliquaries elsewhere on the surface then all activities of orbital bombardment must be ceased immediately, less you should destroy a holy artifact and risk… punishment upon yourself.

Thel sensed the threat in that. It was obvious because there was no need for subtly, not when you sat at the pinnacle of everything with no one else to strike you down for a word spoken out of turn.

"What we are asking for," Truth said. "Is that you, Thel Vadumee, Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice, and you, Beorda Niccoramee, Supreme Commander of the 2nd Fleet of Theophanic Revelation work as one to ensure that the better interests of the Covenant are looked after on this newly discovered world." Truth's eyes narrowed in scrutinizing them both. "However, there will be a need for either unified direction or synchronized leadership. Meaning that we need one of you to acquiesce to the authority of the other or for you to cooperate closely. It is your decision."

Decision. The word felt almost alien to Thel. Decisions were made for him when it came to his superiors, not by him. The latter was only ever done in regard to his subordinates. It almost felt as if to say what he thought would mean appraising his will over that of the Hierarchs, an unimaginable and nearly unthinkable thing for three beings that stood the closest to transcendence.

Niccoramee's voice broke him from his thoughts. "The task of the reliquary, who will it fall too?"

Truth answered, albeit indirectly. "It will fall to whoever receives the additional assignment of overseeing the…utilization of this planet." He held out his hand again and stretched out his fingers. The holograph of the world shifted again, moving outward to show its resident star system along with dozens of others in its galactic neighborhood. "The position of this planet relative to the rest of where we believe their 'inner colonies' to be is of vital importance to us. It will prove useful for our future purposes, which is why we seek to spare at least a portion of the planet's surface near where this reliquary is located. It is far enough away from other human settlements not to have been tainted by their presence. Even so, we will still be sending the Prophet of Sanctity to accompany you. He will carry out his duties as the Minister of Iconography in sanctifying this region for our usage."

Thel marveled at the fact that a prophet would be accompanying them for this mission. That meant that something of truly massive proportions was to be done.

"And what is this purpose you seek to bring about here, noble Hierarch?" Thel asked. He watched a small, all-knowing smile cross the prophet's face.

"I will show you."

Truth hadn't lied. He did show them. But what Thel saw next made him consider that the Hierarch may have truly summoned him here for the single greatest impractical jest that he had ever witnessed. Then it slowly dawned him that there was no humor in the prophet's eyes or in the projections that he showed.

It was massive. No, they were massive, awe-inspiring in their magnitude. They were beautiful, glorious, worthy of being told of for generations on the walls of Thel's Keep detailing the Vadum Saga, and their construction was now the sole responsibility of Supreme Commander Beorda Niccoramee.

"Niccoramee will oversee their creation." Truth said, nodding to the second commander. "You must see to it that their construction is carried out once the last of the human forces have been routed and eradicated. The existence of these along with their tactical positioning will be crucial to our endeavors against the humans. You must not fail."

Thel watched Niccoramee bow his head and say in no uncertain terms, "I will do as the Hierarchs have willed. As you say, so it will be."

The Supreme Commander of the 2nd Fleet of Theophanic Revelation must have detected the subdued rage chained behind the eyes of his counterpart who stared at him unceasingly. His mandibles shifted into a small, nearly imperceptible smile. Thel perceived it all the same, along with the boost in ego that the other commander had probably just received.

"Now all that remains is the matter of how you will operate on this mission." Mercy said.

The ire hidden behind Thel's eyes was forcibly done away with. He realized quickly that he only had one favorable option, and it would not be to work for Niccoramee. Still, they had given him the opportunity to decide for himself, perhaps foreseeing his palpable jealousy beforehand. Now he felt unrestrainedly free to use it.

"I agree with the second choice of synchronized leadership. I will be able to conduct the destruction of the rest of the planet while Niccoramee handles his own assignment in the east. Our forces should be more than enough to-"

"I disagree." Niccoramee said, gaining everyone's attention. "It is better that the fleets be recomposited to work as one. This way we will avoid any miscommunication of orders or confusion surrounding the chain of command."

It was a well-reasoned argument and the Hierarchs seemed to be considering it. Thel wasn't and he was not about to yield on his own position either. The High Prophets must have discerned this and he was grateful when Truth spoke up once more. "It appears you are both in disagreement, so the decision ultimately falls to us. Let us dispense with this matter quickly then."

"I agree with Vadumee." Regret said. "Synchronized leadership will allow for greater offensive capacities against the naval forces of the humans."

"No, oh Prophet of Regret, that is not wise." Mercy interjected.

Regret's eyebrows arched in vague amusement. "And why is that?"

"Niccoramee has a stronger point. A unified authority will allow both fleets to share in their cohesion and also bring much more power to focus on any obstacles they may face through this stricter reorganization."

Regret scowled, and so did Thel, although less noticeably for his own sake. Niccoramee was watching the entire exchange with unrepentant expectancy and his counterpart could see it in his eyes.

Truth, as was to be expected, broke the deadlock. He waited until the others had finished their discussion before passing down his own irrefutable verdict. "They will work in tandem, not in subjection to the other. While a centralized leadership is more powerful, on the battlefield it may prove more a hinderance than an advantage. The situation across the planet may change in a way that a single leader will not be able to react swiftly and efficiently to resolve, especially considering that both the western and eastern hemispheres are being approached differently. This way the battle-prowess and leadership experience of both commanders will not be supplanted but instead equally brought to bear on our foes."

Thel held in his sigh of relief. He was genuinely thankful for the resolution; despite that it usurped his previous notion of being given a decision of his own. He also noticed a dimming in Niccoramee's expectant gaze. It was a welcomed sight for an equally welcomed verdict.

"Is there any further objection?" Truth asked. While Mercy quietly considered it and Regret nodded in silent agreement, no objection occurred. So the matter was resolved and Truth declared it so. "Then it is settled. The two fleets will act autonomously but also in conjunction with any pressing need presented by the other should it require reinforcements or any assistance regarding the reliquary. The Fleet of Particular Justice will begin their operations in the western continent under Vadumee's direction while the 2nd Fleet of Theophanic Revelation will commence theirs in the east under Niccoramee. You have your tasks, commanders. Now brief your crews and attend to your objectives. You are dismissed and this meeting is adjourned."

The image of Actium dissipated as the holotank deactivated.

The two commanders bowed gracefully for several seconds, declaring in their own way that the desires of the Prophets would be carried out without fail or question. Then they made for the nearest exit.

Thel was halfway to the door when Truth called after him. "A moment, Vadumee."

He stopped and swiftly turned to kneel again while Niccoramee continued through the door.

The High Prophet of Truth slowly floated over to him. He observed the Sangheili officer before him as Mercy and Regret stopped just behind himself. "You have been one of our most effective instruments. Your achievements and accolades are almost unmatched in the annals of the Covenant's fiercest servants. But Niccoramee is not as skilled a commander as you are so you will handle most of the fighting. He may make a mistake that you must seek to correct swiftly."

"I understand."

"Do you?" Truth leaned closer, his voice lowering with him. "Do not let the grace we expended upon you all those years ago be made in vain, Vadumee. Are we of an equal understanding now?"

Thel swallowed. The image of Zhar's decapitated head flashed through his mind. "Your will shall be carried out, my Hierarch."

Truth nodded and gestured for him to leave. He readily obeyed and found himself heading back down the ramp and out into the main hall. Getting some distance from the inner sanctum and the prophets gave him much needed relief, one that was quickly disturbed once he saw Niccoramee standing a short distance away, seemingly waiting for him.

Seeing him reminded Thel of his own predicament, something the other commander had likely stayed behind to remind him of. Sure enough, he fell in next to him as they walked past the Honor Guards. He did his best to ignore the building enmity within himself at each word that proceeded from Niccoramee's mouth.

"It appears that the glory is mine now, Thel."

"I see no world beneath your feet so I will not call you a conqueror of more than the air that you force into your lungs."

Niccoramee lightly chuckled. "When I bestow this story upon my family lineage, do not concern yourself. I will certainly include your tail within it. You shall be remembered for the little that you did."

"Is that meant to be a certainty?"

"No, only an understanding that by the end of all this I will have accomplished what other commanders can only dream of. Feel grateful that you shall be able to witness it on account of me."

Niccoramee allowed no further conversation and walked off with a greater determination in his footsteps that made him out-pace Thel. The latter watched him eventually pass through the door which shut behind him.

Never in his life had he felt so slighted. An opportunity that he was so objectively qualified for was instead given to another with less experience than himself. There was no room to address such feelings in the inner sanctum, although he wished there were. That way he could tell them what a mistake it was to appoint someone like Niccoramee to oversee what had been shown. The Prophets had made permission for opinions to be voiced solely surrounding how they worked together, not who did what. But he sorely wished that they had.

Thel was so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost missed when one of the guards called out to him. "Supreme Commander."

He turned to the guard in question. It was the same one he'd seen before that seemed as if he wished to speak with him. Apparently, he had seen his last chance to do so and called out as he was about to pass him by.

"Is there something wrong, Guardsman?"

The guard bowed his head in humility. Thel noticed worryingly that his grip on his stove tightened.

"There is nothing wrong. It is simply an honor to meet you who are so highly esteemed amongst the fleets. I wished to ask you earlier but hesitated." The warrior stopped to sift over his words before letting them leave the safe confines of his mind. "Is your work that you do one that…satisfies you, commander?"

The question caught him off guard. Thel had never actually given much thought to his own satisfaction. His core attention had always been bent towards how he could best serve the Covenant. Satisfaction was never really a strong concern. "Why do you ask such things?"

"Please forgive my interruption, commander." Another nearby guard said, bowing his head. "However, the guard you speak to now does not know where his priorities lie. He serves at the very feet of the Gods yet somehow occasionally forgets where he is."

"I did not forget." The first guard protested. "It is only a question."

"One prompted by?" Thel asked, turning his attention back on him.

"…Service."

"Service? But you already serve the Gods here by protecting our appointed leaders. What greater service is there to find than that?"

The guard shuffled slightly on his feet, a small sign of his unease. "I am serving and have served. That said, I sense that I am not using the full range of my abilities given me at my birth and honed throughout my adolescence. I-"

"Feel slothful?" The other guard snickered.

"No, that is not it, brother. It is just that I feel that I…" The first guard drifted off into some uncertain corner of his mind.

"You feel that you could do more elsewhere."

By finishing his thought for him, Thel caused the guard to blink in visible wonder that someone had understood what he had failed to convey through words alone. "…Yes."

Thel could understand his problem. Some time ago R'tas had also spoken to him privately about his own issue that he had taken with his special forces unit, more specifically the indirect approach that they often took to combat which he could not bring himself to adjust to. These two shared that much in common. They both wanted more than what their current stations provided. Because of that, Thel was able to see where he was coming from and knew how to respond.

"The Gods give many gifts to their chosen. Sometimes those gifts take us elsewhere from where we are currently bound. Tell me, what is the fire within your spirit telling you that you should do?"

The guard thought it over with a growing enthusiasm. "To seek further glory through combat. I wish to fight the enemies of the Gods in the open, on the frontlines. I wish to face them and cut them down wherever they make their stand."

It was an admirable desire, and one pure enough to warrant Thel's well-considered recommendation. "Then you will need a station more applicable to both your skills and your desires. Since you are an Honor Guard, you are already qualified to join any group. I propose you find a special forces unit where your abilities as a warrior will be thoroughly utilized."

The guard nodded, thought hesitantly over his next question and asked. "Is there a way to join a special forces unit in your fleet? I hear that none has taken more action in this conflict than that of Particular Justice."

Thel felt his earlier irritation starting to be overwritten by a genuine feeling of pride, that his fleet was so renowned and that it served as a source of inspiration for other Sangheili to do more. "What is your name, warrior?"

"Sesa." The guard said, bowing his head. "Sesa 'Refumee."

"Know this, Refumee. My fleet is always welcoming to souls with conviction such as yours that are willing to give their last breath for the sake of the Great Journey. If you come, there be will be a place for you. I swear it."

Thel watched with renewed satisfaction as the guard named Sesa Refumee beamed with a new sense of purpose, and now, direction.

Sesa bowed even deeper. "Thank you, Supreme Commander Vadumee. Your words alone are an encouragement to me. I should hope that the next time I see you it will be as my leader."

"I should hope to see you again as well." Thel said, nodding off to him. He then proceeded down the rest of the way to the exit, leaving Refumee and the others to continue their watchful vigil over the main hall of the Hierarchs.

:********:

Thel was now wondering if there really would be a place for one such as Refumee in his fleet, or any others for that matter. The problem he faced here on Actium was one that could easily spiral out of control, and arguably already had thanks to Niccoramee's dereliction of duty.

He forced himself to focus on defending the Fleet of Particular Justice's claims on Actium as scores of his ships assembled into his formation in the planet's upper atmosphere.

Across the firmament he could see the first line of human ships coming within sight. Less than 100 kilometers of distance now separated them. Yet even as they approached within each other's firing ranges he found his attention drawn back to the east and what might be unfolding there.

Niccoramee's wanton disregard for orders was affixed to his mind. The Hierarchs had explicitly said for him to begin his task in the east 'after' the human forces were wiped out. Thel couldn't bring himself to understand how Niccoramee could then go on to think of himself as so in tune with divine will in theory when he was actively disobeying it in practice. He hadn't wished to tell the Hierarchs of this disobedience due to the possible repercussions for himself, remembering Truth's warning and considering that it might already be too late.

It was those thoughts that stayed with him as the first salvo of plasma torpedoes and the faster human MAC rounds began crossing the distance between the two sets of ships. He relented under his breath, "I hope your judgement is sound, Niccoramee. For both our sakes."

Divinam voluntatem - Divine Will

P.S: Alright you guys, now lets actually start this arc 😉Happy New Years


	49. Battle of Actium - Chapter 11 (Dispersione)

Chapter 11 – Dispersione

May 8th, 2545 (15:25 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Mezoline Block

:********:

To Duncan, it felt like they were going lower with each passing hour, and that was saying something considering they were on average around 50 meters underground. The 2nd Tier's sewer system was a lot more extensive than he'd imagined, far more so than his TACMAP could suggest. Then again it did have a limited range in subterranean conditions.

For nearly the past 4 hours the squad had moved sewer by sewer, utilizing bypass chambers and using access tunnels to maneuver around the larger, hydrogeologic aquifer reservations.

The surface was simply no longer an option. That was because of the startlingly increasing amount of Grunts there. Their Elite-led patrols of 30 or 50 Grunts each proved to be merely the outer-patrols scanning the territorial fringes. Now they were in the inner areas of the district's northeasterly sections where the Grunt settlements became denser and more prevalent. Patrols of 200 and 300 Grunts moved along the streets between these camps, their sheer ranks shaking the underground as their voices echoed down throughout the sewers.

On four separate occasions the troopers nearly ran into passages where Grunts were setting down plasma batteries and ammo crates or laying lines of pipes that filled the space with methane. Apparently, they were so numerous now that there was increasingly less available room on the surface, forcing them to start looking elsewhere for shelter.

While the notion that they were running out of space was frightening, it was also a good sign for the UNSC. It meant that the Grunts were more likely to run into a border dispute with their southeastern neighbors: The Jackals. Considering that the squad had already run into Jackal patrols on the edges of the Grunt territories earlier, there definitely was a powder keg about to be set ablaze. And since the more diminutive species was known for its high breeding rate, the idea that they would soon buck heads with their buzzard counterparts wasn't that far off the mark. Now they just needed to figure out how to drag the Drones into the future border war. Most likely the insertion teams coming in after them would assassinate one of their queens, if there were any here. Duncan had heard the buggers got especially territorial when it came to their insectoid leaders, which he still didn't know how they looked. The idea of an oversized, humanoid termite queen made him just a bit more uneasy than he already was.

There was enough unease to go around as the squad found themselves somewhere in the Mezoline Block. After Heraklion, they had had a hard time making it through the metallic catacombs of tunnels running beneath Lamia and Agrinio Blocks. Mezoline brought with it its own horrors since the tunnels here forced them closer to the surface, so close that they could now see through rows of grated, sewer drains lining the length of a sidewalk. Through them they could make out the sights that were occasionally blocked out by moving Grunt-legs.

Each block in the Residential District possessed several urban parks that broke up the monotony of building after building. The rectangular plots of recreational land were occupied by grassy fields, gatherings of trees and small lakes. Cement pathways networked throughout them and were guarded with benches and lampposts.

Over a thousand Grunts occupied the area both within and outside of the nearest park. Methane gas had spread over the area like an eerie green fog in which the mask-wearing occupiers strolled freely about, moving amongst the deep atmospheric pits dug deep into the ground and the hundreds of purple, dome-shaped tents.

Duncan noticed something out of the usual in the four steeple-like structures located near the center and pointed them out. "What's the best guess on those things?"

"Fifty credits on them being breeding chambers." Zack said suggestively. The others turned to him with quiet disapproval. He shrugged back. "Their Grunts, it's not like they're good for much else."

"Like space bunnies." Rico laughed.

"No, bunnies are too cute for that kind of comparison." Nova said.

"Space rats then?"

Hector shook his head. "That's a disrespect to rats, man."

"Yeah? Well I'll make sure to apologize to one once I see it, not like it's going to be long before I do…and speak of el diablo." Rico caught one of the sewer's hairy denizens sniffing at his boots before glancing up at his visor and running off with an alarmed squeak.

"Good job, you hurt his feelings." Nova chuckled.

Rico pretended to reach out to it. "Lo siento, señior rata."

While everyone else was quietly laughing to themselves, the Staff watched where the rat was going. He held up a hand, silencing the squad.

The Staff pointed his weapon as the rat passed underneath an opening manhole 10 meters away. A single Grunt dropped down into the sewer. It looked around with its plasma pistol in search of targets. To its detriment, the evening light from the surface only illuminated the area within its immediate vicinity, something that wasn't a problem for the ODSTs. By then the squad already had their weapon sights set on the unsuspecting alien.

The Staff jabbed his thumb backwards. The others kept their steps quiet while they backpedaled into a nearby intersection. The Staff was the last to pull back behind the corner just before two more Grunts hopped in after the first.

Epsilon proceeded down a different route. They moved along passageways leading further north to get some distance from the nearest encampments then continued northeast.

After 10 minutes they reached a section of tunneling where the ground fell away in exchange for one of three catwalks elevated over a chamber of rushing water. The Staff held up a fist, stopping them at the threshold.

"Something wrong, sir?" Nova asked.

"You smell that?"

Zack dared to sniff the air wafting through his helmet's filters. "The crap still smells like crap sir."

"No. It smells like…chlorine."

Taking another look around, the Staff urged them across the catwalk. Along the way they received a better view of the chamber below. Waterfalls ran down both sides of the walls to their left and right, flowing from outlets near the top to an artificial lake that swirled about the catwalks' supports.

"Looks like a treatment plant." Renni commented.

No one moved to answer her back, except for Yuri. "Treatment for?"

"Chlorine is a halogen. It's used to disinfect public water supplies from disease-causing pathogens. Chances are this is a public reservoir."

"Hey Ms. ONI, I wouldn't be so sure its public." Hector said and pointed to a sign on the wall up ahead. It was a circular emblem of a smiling whale caricature leaping out at a star-studded night sky from an equally starry sea. A circumventing string of letters at the bottom read: 'HGPO'.

Renni sighed. "I guess not."

The Staff was the first to reach the door at the end of the catwalk. Thankfully, the knob clicked at his slight twist. He pulled it open and stepped inside with his shotgun at the ready. Epsilon quietly joined him in what was essentially another sewer tunnel. Only this one appeared to be unusually sanitary with transparent glass pipes that curled along its sides. Water presumably from the plant was channeled through them to some destination above. The contents were distinctly clearer and the lack of any strong scent wafting from them suggested that the chlorine had been extracted, leaving behind a purified liquid.

They were continuing down towards another door when a sound echoed through the passage, stopping them in their tracks.

In the three seconds that it lasted Duncan picked up one undeniable fact: whatever had made the noise was alive. Its sinuous resonance sounded much like deep wailing.

Wailing?

Duncan was about to figure it out when Deaks beat him to it. "Was that…a whale?"

"Sounds like it." The Staff said as he forged onward.

They passed into another hallway tidier than the last. A variety of well-stacked cleaning utensils gave it the atmosphere of a utility closet and a heavy weapons arsenal all in one.

There was someone else in the room.

A human was crouched nearby, sifting through the vacuum devices for something. Their VISRs quickly identified him with the friendly green glow of a Marine.

It took the Staff tapping him on the shoulder for him to finally notice their arrival. He jumped slightly as he swiveled about to face them. As he did, Duncan spotted the name 'Bullion' sketched onto one of his shoulder pauldrons beneath the rank bars of a private and the unit designation insignia '4th'.

"Where'd you guys come from!?" The Marine half-whispered-half-shouted.

"The sky." Yuri said drily. He wasn't wrong but the soldier's confusion only grew.

He held up his hands. "Hey, look man, if the Sarge sent you guys down here to check on me-"

"What are you looking for down here, Marine?" The Staff asked. "Answer that and we'll tell you what we're looking for."

Bullion nervously swallowed as he stood up straight. "I-, alright, I was just looking for some food. Okay? Just some food, that's it. I figured one of the janitors might've had some chips chucked away in a locker or something. There's not enough rations to go around anymore so I've been doing nothing except starving in here for the last two days."

The Staff looked to the others then took a step closer to the private. "And where exactly is here?"

:********:

The Henry Gosse Parthenon Oceanarium was the last place anyone was expecting to wind up, mostly because out of the absolute hell hole that the 2nd Tier had become, this appeared to be a genuine safe haven.

Located in the southeastern Mezoline Block, the massive oceanarium had most of its bulk hidden with only 2 of its 12 stories located on the surface. Its rectangular central building was surrounded by an ovular subterranean superstructure that framed in the rest of its facilities below ground level.

Multiple aquatic exhibits dominated both the upper and lower levels with the larger ones being further below in relation to the size of the creatures they housed.

Duncan found the open-air exhibits of Level-9 to be his favorite. As they passed the guard-rails of the surrounding platforms the ODSTs saw tanks of various shapes where the silhouettes of the marine denizens moved about. Some reminded him of sharks he'd seen at aquariums back on Earth while others bore closer resemblances to tortoises, dolphins, crabs and even squids. But Actium's own rich biodiversity had its deviations. Back on Earth, tortoises didn't have shells that looked more like oversized frag grenades that they were somehow still able to carry. Dolphins didn't have fins rivaling the size of manta rays' that flapped around them like a salsa dancer's dress as they spiraled through the water. Crabs didn't have stingers and tree-length limbs that would put even the mightiest spider crabs to shame, nor did squids look like they had more in common with human-sized shrimp bearing seven flexible claws with inbuilt fins in exchange for eight adaptable tentacles. And apparently, according to Bullion, the latter of those were just the infants. The adults were somewhere further down on Level 12 in larger, more contained exhibits.

They soon headed down an underwater tunnel. To either side, clouds of fish swam along self-generated traffic lanes in their groups. They moved above and around artificial coral reefs that imitated those he'd seen back at Lavender Beach. A few larger creatures were in there as well. The most notable were the Catfish-Mako Shark hybrids he'd seen earlier. They seemed to stalk the troopers as they walked along the glass tunnel, tracking them with their hauntingly black eyes.

Further back Duncan noticed a set of secondary, more sizable exhibitions. Within them sailed figures possessing the paleness of Beluga Whales and the arrowhead shape of Blue Whales. Exactly which they were was a mystery to Duncan, or maybe they were their own brand of aquatic mammal. When they wailed towards each other they caught the rest of the squad's attention, confirming where that earlier noise had come from. It was obvious at the very least that the fauna housed here was thriving, unlike the humans.

Civilians were crowded on almost every level by the thousands. Men, women and children had found space where they could, sitting against the railings of open-air exhibits or the glass walls of underwater tunnels. Many wore torn clothes and smelt as if they hadn't taken a shower in days or more. They lay sprawled out amongst their belongings or clustered together in bundles of families where the parents used whatever they had at their disposal to occupy their children. Charades and toys were a common site in those circles. But many of the kids and even a few of the adults eyed the fish within the nearby tanks with more hunger than wonder. The same could be seen in the tired gazes of the Marine squads patrolling past them. While they used wheel-bound snack tables to pass out the scanty rations they had on hand, they too watched the aquatic predators circling around them with an equally predatory stare.

Duncan wasn't sure how bad things really were until he saw a desperate-looking father splitting up an MRE bar with his wife and two daughters. The way their dirtied and scarred faces observed the pieces with raptured awe shook him to his core. Most battle hardened UNSC personnel would actively avoid the nutritionally dense MRE bars. Even most ODSTs that he'd met preferred starvation, saying that their personal pride wouldn't allow them to eat it when they had their own waste on hand, the taste of which was said to be relatively the same, if not slightly better. But the family didn't look like they had any such worries. Life seemed to have humbled them too much in the last week for them to worry about deadly deterrents like personal pride.

Private Bullion directed them to another stairwell and up to the next floor. The other Marines they encountered along the way were forced to do the same. All but a few of the elevators were shutdown to preserve power at the order of the 4th Expeditionary Marine Division's CO.

That was exactly who these Marines had to be. The '4th' insignia still visible on some of their BDU's was a dead giveaway. Their bloodshot eyes and long stares was indicative of extreme combat fatigue and the general atmosphere amongst the individual fireteams, squads and platoons they encountered was one of pure exhaustion.

But the fact there were this many of them alive was a reassuring surprise. Their being here meant that the 22nd had to have had some support when they dropped in, even though it didn't seem to have been nearly enough.

Once they came onto Level 3 just below the streets, the squad happened upon the first combined groups. There were a few squads of Helljumpers scattered here and there that had intermingled with the Marines. Even they looked like they'd had a rough time of it, albeit it not as bad as the 4th.

Seeing them was also a welcomed relief. This far into the Residential District, there were still troopers from their sister battalion alive and active. Duncan wished they got the chance to approach them and ask what was going on. It was the Staff's judgement that led them onward, being that the current CO of the 4th Marines would probably give them a better view of the tactical situation here.

Another stairwell later, they reached Level 2, entering into a titanium floored foyer area with a number of information desks scattered around the front and several receptionist stations at the back. The same emblem of a smiling whale leaping over a starry sky was painted on the floor as well as the front and rear walls. The dark room was occupied by around half a company's worth of Marines. Riflemen dashed between ammunition stations setup at the information and receptionist decks and a long sandbag wall setup around the glass doors at the front. Off to the left, dozens of their wounded were being tended to by medical personnel. Their patients often writhed while teammates restrained them, allowing the medic to spray biofoam into their steaming wounds. The more exhausted among the wounded received shots of morphine. Those that lay utterly still were the least problematic and gave their teary-eyed comrades the chance to remove their dog tags before their body bags were zipped shut.

Bullion led them over to a gathering at the room's center. There, a rough looking Marine with thick eyebrows, an unshaven face, an officer's cap and unblinking eyes was talking to a group of squad leaders. He almost sounded like a street preacher condemning the masses to an eternity of torment. The faces of the men and women he spoke to were hard, tired yet attentive as he gave them their orders on how to reallocate their squads and remaining resources.

Duncan noticed the name 'J. Krauss' tagged to his BDU's left breastplate. Next to it was the insignia of a silver star and single lateral bar that identified him as a Major.

They waited until he had dismissed the last squad leader before the Staff approached him. "Are you the CO here, Major?"

"Hell if I am and hell if I'm not, I'm just as damned as everyone else around here." The Major huffed, jumping down onto the floor. "And you'd be?"

"Staff Sergeant Atell, Bravo Company, 7th Shock Troops Battalion. These my are my troopers."

Major Krauss' expression instantly changed from mild aggravation to surprise. "You're with the 7th?"

"Yessir."

Krauss glanced between the rest of the squad then to Bullion. "Get going, Bully. I'll handle things from here."

The private saluted and went on his way.

Krauss nodded them towards a nearby stairwell.

The squad went after him up the next staircase to Level 1. The topmost floor lacked any furniture which suggested it was a recent extension to the building, possibly a pending office area. It had a decently elevated view of the outside area through its many windows. Structures in the oceanarium's immediate vicinity were also dark, including the private parking lots, mandatory waiting zones and ticket booths that lay just ahead of the steps leading to the front doors.

They circumvented several gatherings of Marines doing work on antennae-based radio equipment, a work that was getting nowhere judging by their frustrated sentences and expressions. The troopers headed over the mahogany flooring to a walled-off office room and stepped inside.

Krauss turned on the lights only after he had set down the window shutters, ensuring anyone or anything nearby wouldn't notice them.

With a heavy breath, he sat down atop the room's lone desk. "Alright, I have a few questions for you and I'm sure you've got some for me. But first, mind telling me how you folks from the 7th wound up this far in without getting toasted?"

"The sewers." Zack shrugged. "It's the only real way to travel these days."

Krauss had a small smile of amusement nearly creep onto his countenance until it disappeared behind his renewed poker face. "So what's going on in the outside world? In case you haven't figured it out already, we at the 4th have been cut off from contacting anyone outside this building. As things stand, we're a little short on time, ammo, food and well…everything else."

The Staff chose to make himself comfortable and leaned back against one of the walls. The others followed his example and sat or stood where they could. Over the course of the next five minutes the Staff detailed the events that had unfolded up to the most recent push by UNSC forces into the 2nd Tier. It gave the Major a much-needed update on his view of the situation, filling in the blanks left by the 22nd ODSTs that he'd already encountered.

At the end, Krauss showed his gratefulness with a partially confused and partially entertained glare. "So that was you guys that almost blew up half the city this morning then? Makes sense. Well thank you for that. It clears some things up. Just some. There's still a few glaring holes in this story that I want to understand. What your reason is for coming this far in would be one of them. I'd assume you're a scouting force since you don't have more than a squad. But what exactly are you reconning?"

"We're not recon, sir." The Staff said. "We have a mission straight from the top."

"I'd like to ask about that. Something's telling me I'll want to know before nightfall."

From where he sat, Duncan could tell that the Major bore a few suspicions towards them. He couldn't blame him. There was much more he and his Marines needed to know, especially considering that they would be in the thick of it once things kicked off.

The Staff slipped off his helmet and held it against his hip. He scratched the long scar running across the left side of his face in thought, possibly looking for a way to phrase their operation. He sighed, dropping all intent for pretense. "I'm sure you've realized that the reason you can't contact anyone is because of the presence of Covenant Jammers within your proximity. My squad is one of several tasked with moving behind enemy lines to reach and secure those Jammers."

"Secure?" Krauss raised a brow. "Why not destroy them?"

"We're planning on using them against the enemy, to block their own signals. Afterwards, secondary infiltration teams will spark a conflict between the Grunts, Jackals and Drones that have started settling across the Residential District. Our modus operandi for the 2nd Tier is to have the Covenant weaken each other enough for our smaller force to stand a better chance against them. By using the jammers to suppress their communications, we'll keep them in the dark. Their leadership won't be able to coordinate any efforts to stop the friendly fire which will allow it to spiral more and more out of their control."

Krauss was wide-eyed by the time he finished his sentence. He scrutinized the Staff with visible disbelief. But the Helljumper's steadfast demeanor slowly convinced him that he was actually serious.

"Hold on, hold on, okay, does ONI have something to do with this?"

The Staff and some in the squad briefly glanced over at Renni who made sure to keep her attention straight forward.

"In a sense." The Staff said. "However, the overall organization of this operation has fallen to military leadership."

"Uhuh, sure it has. That's what ONI always says so that they aren't the fall guys in case their little test goes south. And that's all this is right, a test run for some experimental tech you were given access to by the Office?"

"Not exactly, sir. Its already been extensively field tested. What we're doing here is imploring its known capabilities to use the Covenant's tech against them."

Krauss crossed his arms over his chest. "You sound crazy." He breathed out. "Then again, these are crazy times. And when do you need to reach your…objective?"

"We'll need to be in place in another hour and a half. Everything sparks off at 1800. We should be able to reach where we believe our objective to be in the next 30 minutes."

"Ten, actually." Krauss corrected.

"Sir?"

"Things are about to get a whole lot louder around here." Krauss said, rubbing his chin as he looked at the shuttered windows. "I know where your objective is, Staff Sergeant. The Jammer, its less than ten minutes away from here inside a water tower."

Now it was the Staff's turn to arch an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

Krauss rubbed the back of his neck with an exhaustion in his face that hadn't been there before. "I…sent out a recon team to check it out a few days ago. Before we lost contact, they had a sniper crew confirm the presence of a Jammer on one of the upper floors. The Covenant started bringing in CCJs a while back. I sent a few squads to take out the nearest one but I haven't heard back from them since."

"Can I ask what happened here that allowed them to setup their equipment across the city like this?"

Krauss' eyes became heavier. "Then I'd have to tell you the full story…if you're interested."

At the Staff's nod, the Major continued. "Our division was originally assigned here on a garrisoning post. We were just going about our business when news came in that the Covenant had arrived in Aquilla. That was the start of Day One. Our Division Commander, Major General Menshau had us working with the HMPD to evacuate civilians while we setup defensive positions to delay the expected ground assault. We wanted to get the 53rd Armored over here for reinforcements as well but their hands were tied up in Treviso so we were on our own. We started guiding people to the Starports. Then because of the traffic that created we decided to change tact. Instead, we started directing people to evacuation points like this one at the oceanarium to alleviate the situation on the streets. From there, they were airlifted to Starports in the 3rd Tier or to cargo ships already waiting in the stratos. Thankfully, we got a lot of them out. Then the Covenant showed up.

At first, they brought their ships into a holding pattern over the city, not glassing us right away for whatever reason. It gave us a chance to hold their ground troops back a little longer. But by noon our division commander got KIA'd and the Starports started going dark. The airlifts also stopped around the same time. By 1530 Hours our leadership organization was so shot that any kind of coordinated effort at that point was impossible. Individual units began operating on their own, and by 1620 Hours our evacuation points like here became rallying points instead for anyone still hanging around. That led to our current predicament, having plenty of civilians that came to be evacuated and no way left to evacuate them."

Major Krauss pointed at a nearby window. "On Day Two we were all spread around out there. From what I can remember, 5th Battalion was holding out at the Perseus Institute over in Eleusis Block, the same with 9th battalion over at the cultural center in Kastoria. Captain Henderson was managing whoever was left in Veria at the Titus gymnasiums and there were a few other holdouts operating in scattered pockets here and there. The last of the police held out for a while at the HMPD HQ a good distance southwest of this place. I tried convincing their Chief of Police to come here where it was safer but he wouldn't budge, said they were doing just fine on their own. They got overrun about an hour later. I managed to pull the surviving companies of the 2nd and 3rd Battalions together to assemble here in Mezoline.

Our casualties were mounting. In a way they still are but it was worse back then because the Covies considered us an immediate threat. That was when they started setting up those jammers to isolate us. We lost contact with anyone in the southern sector at 0500 and the whole northern sector just 10 minutes later. By 0530 we couldn't get any messages out ourselves and the Covies started launching fresh assaults shortly after. They make at least two attempts to root us out every day. What you saw downstairs was the aftermath of the latest bonanza. This whole time we've had to suck it up, waiting and hoping reinforcements would come." A scowl flashed over his face. "You only took about a week to get here."

"We got caught up in Treviso." The Staff explained. "Our leaders kept getting offed so we had no real coordination ourselves until fairly recently."

Krauss nodded. "In any case, it didn't do us much good. When the 22nd Shock Troops showed up on our front porch out of the clear blue this morning we linked up with them and gave them what support we could. We thought with them we might have a chance to make a final push out of here. Turns out we were wrong. Dead wrong. And so was Taylors. But it wasn't like we could've told him what he would run into down here. Even we didn't know how bad things had gotten in places like Sycion or Rhodes with the Covies deciding to squat all around the 2nd Tier. For now, we're stuck here until either the rest of your forces decide to move in or the enemy starves us out. From the looks of things, one of those seems closer than the other."

The Staff took less than a heartbeat to consider the situation and form new questions. "Do you know why it is that their ships didn't stay?"

Krauss shrugged. "Who honestly knows. They disappeared on the first day. The last I saw of them; they were headed further east after they'd dropped every Covenant soldier in the system on top of our heads. My best guess is they didn't want to fry the place they wanted as their new home. If I'd have known that I would've preferred they glassed it. The thought of a Grunt and a Jackal sitting in the couch of someone's living room watching Waypoint is one I don't favor."

"And what about the pipes?"

"What about the pipes? Listen, all I can tell you is that they're an honest-to-God afterthought when you're facing Alamo conditions every day for the better part of a week."

"Fair enough." The Staff said and moved to change the subject. "What about this water tower? How can we get there?"

Krauss finally slipped off the desk to stand and called out to someone outside the door. "Asana, come on in. We'll need you for this part."

The door opened and an ODST stepped inside. His BDU was more visibly battered than anyone else' in the room. He took off his helmet, exposing his chiseled yet bruised face and low-shorn red hair as he came beside the Major.

Krauss bumped a fist on his armored shoulder. "This is Captain Asana. He and his squad both came in with the 22nd this morning. They've been lending us a helping hand in fending off the Grunts here ever since. I figured I owed him this favor."

"Favor?" The Staff asked.

Asana nodded. "Yeah, and I figured you were the best way for me and my squad to get where we need to go."

Seeing the befuddlement on his face, Captain Asana answered by sending a contact to the squad's TACMAPs. Their HUDs alerted them to it and they found themselves looking at the complex schematics of a tunnel running in a northeasterly direction before stopping at a blue endpoint.

"What's this, sir?"

"Service tunnels running between here and the tower." Asana replied. "My ODSTs have been scouting it out ever since the Major told us where that CCJ is located. We were looking at heading there to take it out ourselves for a while now but I wasn't sure if we had the numbers that we needed. Now with your squad, I know we can neutralize it."

"Well that solves that problem." Hector laughed wearily.

The Staff turned back on the captain. "It sounds like a plan sir, only our plan isn't to destroy it."

"I overheard." Asana assured. "Don't worry. We'll accompany you so you can accomplish your mission. But we want your agreement on something before we take you out there."

The Staff's expression changed to slight concern. "What do you need from us, sir?"

"Notice the proximity that tower has to the 2nd Premiere?"

They did notice it. Maximizing their TACMAPS gave them an underground, birds eye view of what they would be heading into. There was no more than 2 kilometers between the tower and the nearest wall. Since the closer to the wall they came the more resistance they would run into, heading to the tower was the rough equivalent of approaching a hornet's nest. Factoring in the Drones made that more of a disturbing reality than an allusion.

"I see it." The Staff said. "And I don't like it."

"Neither do I. That said, you and I both need to head out in that direction. Its just that my reason for going is different. Now that you'll be taking care of that CCJ it frees my team to head straight for the wall."

For a second, Duncan thought he'd never seen a man so ready to die in his life as Captain Asana. The others were similarly in silent shock, save for Krauss who could see the next question forming on the Staff's confused face and moved to answer it.

"Its Colonel Taylors. We believe he may be somewhere around there. Asana's been hoping to go and look for him."

The Captain offered further clarification. "His last shortwave communication came from somewhere near Gatehouse-9 when he ordered everyone to withdraw from the assault at around 0720 Hours, just before he went missing. That's just 2 kilometers northeast of the water tower. If we reach that location, we might be able to find him."

"…If he's gone missing all this time then how can you be sure he's not already…" The Staff stopped as Asana closed his eyes, shook his head and smirked knowingly.

"The Colonel isn't one for dying. Death just doesn't agree with him much. I'm certain yours is the same way." His demeanor softened. "Nevertheless, his chances out there will only worsen the longer we wait. If he is still out there, he doesn't have much time, not now that we know what the rest of the UNSC forces in the city are up to."

It was a fair point. Stirring up the hornet's nest would naturally get anyone in sight stung.

Asana held out a hand. "Would do you say, Staff? We help you with your Colonel's plans and you help us save ours by extension."

The Staff looked blankly at the gesture. Then he slowly reached out. The rest of Epsilon watched as the hand of a 7th Shock Trooper shook that of a 22nd. The former's face broke into an uncertain grin. "You help us, we help you, right?"

Asana grinned back. "Right."

"Alright then. We've got your backs and you have ours."

Then its settled." Krauss sighed. "I'll inform my Marines about the hell that's about to get stirred up around here. You troopers meanwhile can just get going."

Captain Asana nodded as he turned to the Staff. "Follow me."

:********:

The service tunnel leading to the water tower was damp but reasonably secure. The sole concern for everyone moving through it was the line running along the walls where the dampness stopped. It was 3 meters high, meaning that the water level would, with time, rise well over head-height.

As both Squad Epsilon under the Staff and Squad Griffin under Captain Asana departed the oceanarium for this subterranean passage, the former squad's worries were dominated by the fact that their route was inherently purposed for submersion. The passage acted as an intermediary between the oceanarium and the tower's water reserves, actively transiting newly treated water between the private company facility and the government facility.

For now, the water was just at their heels. Though there was no telling how long it would remain there, Duncan discovered that the further they went the more the water seemed to creep up their boots.

The 8 ODSTs of Squad Griffin led the way forward with Captain Asana taking point while Epsilon carried the rear. Their footsteps made mild splashes through the dark, their noises drowned out by the constant avalanche coming from the surface. Grunts were always streaming across the overhead roadways, reminding them where they were going and how much stealth would be required.

"When he said service tunnel, I figured it would've been, you know, drier." Deaks griped.

"It provides a service." The Staff corrected. "We better hope it doesn't provide it any time soon."

"If I wanted to get wet, I would've stayed on that beach back west."

"La Playa is no place for us." Rico said. "We go where the fight goes."

"Yeah, and I'm saying if we didn't do that, we would be a lot drier, or at least more wet with seawater. I'd take that over this."

"Amen." The Staff agreed. "Now shut up and keep moving."

"Ay-ay, sir."

The troopers continued in silence, climbing up inclines, sliding down short declines and swerving around angular turns in their route.

True to the Major's word, they arrived in less than 10 minutes at a metal hatch whose rusted wheel handle made it nearly impossible to open. After Griffin-1 had finished taking his turn at it, the Staff ushered Rico forward. The Demolitionist gave a maniacal cackle as he removed several strips of a material from his rucksack. Their metallic appearance betrayed no hint of the malleability and elasticity they actually possessed, features which Rico put to good use in stretching them along the hatch's seams, adhering them like tape. Once the last one was overlaied atop the others, he slipped a wire connected to a trigger into them and took a few steps back.

"It's quiet, right?" The Staff asked.

Rico depolarized his visor to grin back. "It's condensed C-12, no worries, you won't hear a thing."

"Isn't C-12 illegal?"

"Well, I don't tell you guys everything about me, do I?" He pulled the trigger.

There was a muted flash of light along the strips and a single, muffled thump that resounded from the otherwise whisper quiet explosions. Then the smoking hatch fell forward.

Rico quickly grabbed it. With some help from Hector they hoisted it off to the side.

The two squads continued on into a circular tunnelway and stopped at a grated barrier 10 meters further down. On the other side of the grating was a wide, cylindrical chamber. Streams of water poured in endlessly from multiple outlets located in the upper sections of the chamber, splashing down into the massive pool at the very bottom. A quartet of grated platforms stood above the roughly undulating surface, each encircling four hydrostatic pumps, prod-like mechanisms that connected to pipes leading up to a distant ceiling. The pumps shifted into and out of the water via attached devices beneath the surface, moving almost autonomously from the others in their bundles. Their repetitive plunging movements stirred the water around them in the fashion of a turbulent sea.

"This is it." Asana said. "Griffin-4, torch it."

The ODSTs made way for Griffin-4. Whipping out his blowtorch he seared his way through the metal bars until the entire grating was cut loose enough to be pulled aside.

They leaped out a trooper at a time onto one of the catwalks that connected the four platforms, granting them a better perspective of the chamber. It was a vertical space with three segmented staircases that spiraled along its height, providing access to each level before stopping at the 10th floor.

With the immediate area clear, they started along the nearest staircase. They deactivated their VISRS thanks to the wall lights that kept everything well lit.

A few of the floors they passed had open doors leading to ransacked office areas. Others had lounges with glass window views of the outside cityscape, confirming they were finally above ground.

"Looks like the emergency generators are hanging in there." Asana noted. "If I'd known it was going to be this easy...makes you wonder why the Covies didn't bother having better security down here."

"To give us a way in." The Staff said matter-of-factly as they crested the last staircase.

"You think our enemies are defeatists, Staff Sergeant?"

"I'd like to think that their superiority complex makes them forget we're still a real threat sometimes."

"I like that perspective. Let's hope it holds up."

They reached the door on the 10th floor. Captain Asana was the first through.

The upper floor was covered in lanes of padded chairs sitting in front of a quintet of clerk desks, signifying its purpose as a waiting area. A quick look from left to right revealed that the room rounded the topmost section of the water system distribution chamber they had just left. They dispersed with weapons raised, scanning for targets.

None made themselves apparent. Moreover, the glass windows paneling the exterior walls gave an even better view of the surrounding city than the lounges below. To no one's surprise the urban cityscape was still mostly dark with only the evening light of the setting sun offering any resistance against their blackened interiors. There were also several newer Covenant structures jutting out from the landscape, the same steeples that Zack had so assumedly identified as Grunt breeding chambers. It wasn't a far-off idea, just a disturbing one.

Duncan preferred not to think about the notion that the Covenant were invading the planet just to setup sex chambers and instead focused on clearing the room.

After a quick sweep by the squads around both bends of the waiting area they regrouped at another set of staircases. As they ascended the steps, Duncan thought he heard the rurring sound of wind coming from somewhere above and outside the stairwell. What made him realize it couldn't be that was because wind had a habit of going strong before slowly dying down, not skipping in and out like a fluctuating jet engine. What made him realize that he wasn't just hearing things was when the others stopped to look around as well.

"You hear that?" Asana asked.

"Sounds like company." The Staff said and checked his rifle's ammo counter.

They began moving again, slower and more cautiously. They emerged through a set of double doors out into a wide balcony that extended around the circumference of the next room. Judging by the ovular boundaries and the eloquent marble sheen of the ground three floors below, it had to be a visitor's center. Five outspread booths with shelves of informational pamphlets and a number of alcoves baring diagrams of service reservoirs as well as the tower itself added credence to that summation.

But the ODSTs weren't the only visitors here. The moment they understood that they ducked down and fanned out across the opaque glass railings palisading the sides of the balcony.

Duncan felt a lump form in his throat as he peered over and spotted the first one. There was an Elite on one of the more elevated sections of the visitor's center. It wore an angular, silvery white armor, a polarized, cobalt visor that matched its elongated head and an inactive thruster pack whose carapace-like appearance distinguished its wearer as an Elite Ranger. The alien was striding casually across an upper deck with a plasma repeater clipped to its back.

A quick flash of his VISR mode singled out three more of them in a menacing red. There were four in total, three on the ground floor and one on an upper deck. That quickly changed when one chose to fly, causing its mechanism's two chemical based thrusters to extend outward and push it into the air similarly to a rising rocket. The sound of rushing wind that the device emitted made it clear where that earlier noise had come from. Its user landed on the upper deck to chat with the other white-armored Ranger.

Yet the thruster pack wasn't the main source of commotion in the room. Duncan diverted his attention to a point where a burst of azure light regularly flashed out from somewhere on the bottom floor, reminding him of a rhythmic heartbeat thanks to the eerie blipping noise that ran in tandem. He traced the bursts of light to an alcove on the opposite side of the center. There he spotted their target: The Covenant Communications Jammer.

The CCJ looked just like Garrison's portrayal: a clawless crab with three tubes jutting out of its head. Still, that idea did well to cut out all the technological enhancements and shimmering blue lights that made the machine what it was. It had to be nearly four times the size of a person, or more. Duncan's attention was drawn to its main control display at the front. He would need to reach it in order to get the job done that they came to do.

"Rangers, four of them, two with Plasma repeaters on upper deck to our left, two more on the ground floor near the middle, one with a repeater and the last with a concussion rifle. CCJ is located in alcove on the far end. I recommend we spread out and match targets."

Duncan winced, not just at the Staff's swift situational analysis but at the fact that one of these Elites had a concussion rifle. Rangers were already a rare sight outside of aerial and Zero-G environments, but whenever they were encountered, they were known to raise several kinds of hell, even for Helljumpers. Their maneuverability was the main source of their troublesome nature since it made them harder to hit when they started hopping from place to place. However, Duncan figured they had brought the right amount of troopers needed to take on this many Rangers. They just had to pull it off the first time around or things would really go to hell, mainly with that concussion rifle.

"Lets make it quick and clean." Asana said. "Griffin, hook left. Epsilon hook right. We'll handle those two on the deck."

"Copy."

There was no hint of fear or hesitation in the voices of the two leaders as they split their squads off along different sides of the balcony. They stayed crouched to avoid being seen, mostly because the last thing they needed was for one lucky Ranger to fly high enough to notice them.

Once they were in place they rose up along the railings and began picking targets. Four or five individual targeting reticles were centered on each Ranger. The aliens kept about their business, completely unaware of the 18 guns tracking their every movement from above.

Captain Asana did them the honors. "On my go. Three…two…put'em down!"

All 18 troopers opened up in a unanimous salvo of silenced gunfire.

In the first 400 milliseconds the energy shields of the four Rangers had popped under the fire. Near the 1 second mark, the two on the upper deck danced under the rain of ballistics, the first collapsing like a rock while the second swung back, firing off stray shots as it slumped to the ground.

The same happened for the third Ranger on the ground floor who, after being torn through like swiss cheese by Epsilon's barrage was forced to spiral to the ground after one of Deaks' sniper rounds flashed through its visor and came out through its chin.

But the last Ranger managed to react much faster than its now dead comrades, leaping into one of the alcoves the moment its shields collapsed. It slipped around a decorative column and came out where no one was aiming. In a blink it was soaring into the air, heading straight for Epsilon.

Duncan went wide-eyed when he realized too late that it was the same Elite with the concussion rifle.

It got off two shots before Deaks zipped a final high caliber round through its unprotected visor.

The first searing comet of blueish-pink plasma energy overshot its target and hit the ceiling. The second was more accurate, striking the railings just in front of Zack. The concussive blast shattered the glass and sent him flying back.

Duncan watched him sail three meters through the air and crash back-first against one of the external windows, cracking its surface before tumbling to the ground in a heap.

"Zack!" Nova cried out.

The squad rushed to his side. He was thankfully still moving but noticeably slower. As Hector propped his back against the wall, he took off his helmet for him. The trooper looked dazed, his eyes shifting from place to place probably trying to understand why the room was spinning around him. "Well that sucked."

"You better be grateful you're still alive, kid." The Staff warned with a shade of concern in his mostly calm voice. "A direct hit would've killed you outright."

Zack cracked his neck. "It almost did. I managed to turn a bit at the last second so the radio caught the brunt it." He reached for his equipment and fangled around with its functions. "I'd be more worried about this thing than me honestly."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Renni said, pointing to his ears. Small spurts of blood bubbled from the canals and were trickling down the sides of his face. "How's your hearing?"

"There's…ringing, lots of ringing. I can still hear you but…"

Renni turned to the Staff. "He's probably got burst eardrums. I can use my biofoam to regenerate the tissue. His hearing should be back to normal in about an hour."

The Staff nodded. "Do what you can for him. The rest of you, on me."

The squad left Renni to tend to the semi-sober radioman while they descended a flight of stairs to the ground floor. Squad Griffin was already there, checking on the dead Elites and policing their fallen weapons, placing them off to the side in case they were needed later.

"How's your radioman?" Captain Asana asked as he pulled the concussion rifle free from the cold dead claws of the last Elite, its corpse having fallen atop one of the info booths.

"He'll be a little deaf for a while but he's stable."

"Got it." Asana handed the gun over to one of his troopers.

"Ep-8." The Staff pointed to Duncan then to the Jammer. "Get on it. I want you to get used to that machine ahead of schedule so we don't run into any problems later."

Duncan snapped off a salute and jogged over to the machine, wincing every so often when the jammer emitted the flash of blue light that partially distorted his HUD. He eyed the alien calligraphy on the frontal control display, touched a half cresent-shaped symbol so that his smartlink could establish contact with the system then got to work.

"Looks like this was a success." Asana observed. "Now that you've got your Jammer, we need to reach our Colonel."

The Staff's answer came after a brief hesitation as he looked around the room. He sighed. "Alright, but I can only spare you one."

Asana's visor depolarized, showing his furrowed brow. "Not a fireteam or a binary?"

"Reaching this place has made me realize how much troopers I'll need to guard it, and the lower levels outside the pumping chamber aren't even secured as yet. I'll have to send my people around to check things out. But Colonel Taylors, if he's still out there, won't have time for us to wait and clear things out before we come for him, like you said. I can spare you one right now. If you want more, you'll have to wait till we clear everything out here. We might have killed these Rangers quickly but who knows if that last one managed to make a quick call for help or if anything nearby heard those shots."

Captain Asana's gaze flitted between the ODSTs of Epsilon meandering about the room. He gave a heartfelt exhale. "Alright Staff, you got me. Which one?"

The Staff spotted Deaks trying to remove the helmet from one of the corpses on the upper deck. "Ep-3, get over here!"

Once he heard his name, the corporal unenthusiastically dropped the dead body and jogged over to his side. The Staff slapped him on the shoulder. "Corporal Deaks here is the best shot in Bravo. He'll provide you with the overwatch support you'll need while you search for Taylors."

Asana sized him up and nodded at length, seeming pleased. "Sounds good. We lost our sniper this morning so we'll take what overwatch we can get our hands on."

The corporal, lacking the amount of authority it would require to contest the decision, remained quiet.

"Alright, follow me corporal. Griffin saddle up at those doors. We're heading out." The other ODST squad gathered together at the doors on the opposite end of the room. The Captain looked back to give the Staff a two-fingered salute. "We'll be back."

Then he left, and his troopers followed him out. Deaks stayed put at the threshold for a moment, looking expectantly at his squad leader.

"Don't worry, we'll save the bodies for when you get back." The Staff assured.

Taking the assurance, Deaks gave him the thumbs up and went out after Griffin.

"Alright, listen up. While Ep-8's on Jammer duty and Ep-10 deals with Ep-7, we're going to setup a perimeter. I want this place air-tight to make sure nothing gets in or out that isn't human. Ep-4, stay here and lock down the room. Everyone else, on me, we're going to secure the rest of this building."

The ODSTs flashed their acknowledgement lights and sprung to their orders.

Dispersione – Dispersion


	50. Battle of Actium - Chapter 12 (Memoria)

Chapter 12 – Memoria

May 8th, 2545 (16:38 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Near Heraklion Block

:********:

The HMPD HQ's tactical positioning at the center of two highways was coming in handy by allowing UNSC forces to head for their rallying points a kilometer outside the Covenant territories.

Both Juno and Golf Companies of the 27th Marines' 2nd Battalion were joining Garrison's Bravo Company in streaming down one such highway. They either jogged alongside or hopped aboard the two dozen Warthogs and Scorpion tanks of their convoy driven by 53rd Armored personnel. According to Mentieth, the latter were the greener elements of his division's 18th Tank Battalion with the Warthogs being a detachment from the Light Assault Group, a part of his personal Combat Command A.

Above them, several squadrons of Hornets from the 24th Air Reconnaissance Group kept pace 200 meters above the convoy. At a certain point they banked off to establish their holding patterns. Their purpose was not to immediately run into the fray with everyone else but to remain on standby. There was still a concern among the 24th's COs regarding the northeastern sector, specifically reports of AA Shades in the Lamia and Veria Blocks further northeast of Heraklion as well as some in southeast Eleusis.

The reports came from the strike teams Garrison had sent after the insertion teams. While they still could, they radioed back their findings behind enemy lines, detailing the existence of AA positions and enemy armor convoys.

The recon teams accompanying them gave similar reports. But they had stopped far shorter of the strike teams' progress to act as advanced observation scouts, providing the main force with active updates on the developing situation in the occupied zones. It was ultimately through them that the invasion would know when to advance.

Personnel in Garrison's convoy, including ground and air forces, numbered close to 1,000. It was one of 10 similarly sized convoys headed east as well as northeast and southeast. They were unified under the command of Colonel Mentieth who, out of strategic consideration, kept another 10 convoys back in reserve.

Alpha Company was assigned to Convoy-1 through 3 which worked under the designation Column A. Lieutenant Colonel Serakovich was the one taking the reins in leading them southeast for the Jackal territories. Delta and Echo Companies were assigned to Convoy-4 through 6 whose designation was Column B. They were under Colonel Mentieth's direct leadership and bound for a section of the eastern district known as Eden Square. The area lay at the junction of the Grunt, Jackal and Drone territories where the fighting would be its fiercest.

Then there was Bravo assigned to its current post in Convoy-7 through 9 under Garrison's personal direction in Column C. They were moving northeast for the edges of the Grunt territories.

The three columns would stop just a kilometer short of the fringes of the occupation zones, A at Eleusis, B at Ano Liosia and C at Heraklion. They would wait until the internal fighting had flared up then died down in the areas where they planned to push inward, then take back those weakened territories by storm.

Garrison thought a good symbolic representation of the overall situation would be a phalanx of classical sword and shield wielding warriors cutting down their foes one push at a time. Greek Spartans were the best idealization of that general idea.

Only there were no Spartans to be seen, not since the last one that saved his life earlier in the day. They had less than an hour before things kicked off and he couldn't help hoping that they would repeat their actions at the De Gaulle Starport, now on the offensive.

Whether they came or not the plan would move ahead. It was merely that UNSC combat operations tended to run smoother where the two-meter-tall demigods encased in expensive-looking green armor were involved.

Garrison had found himself a spot on the upper left passenger seat of Convoy-7's lead tank. The driver, a ruddy looking AP named Corporal Richard Marty, had told him it would give him the best spot from which to join the fight right away, something for which he had ultimately selected his tank for. Marty knew how to handle his craft that he referred to as 'Natasha II' with an expert hand. It showed in how he maneuvered to gently push empty cars, trucks and even the larger garbage transports out of the way, clearing a path forward for everyone else.

The Colonel watched him nudge aside a silver Überchassis like one would a rock with their boot, all without breaking their rate of speed. That level of finesse brought a smile to his face. "You a Family Man, Marty?" He asked, looking back at the driver.

Marty shrugged. "Well, kinda sir. How'd you figure?"

"You drive like a man with kids, quick but cautious, like you're taking me to a soccer game."

Marty's lightly freckled face flushed red with slight embarrassment. "Yeah, my wife caused that. After my first newborn she went out of her way to tame this stallion whenever driving got involved."

"When you say tame, do you mean your driving or you yourself?"

"Both." Marty shrugged again and laughed, earning a round of mirth from the rest of the tank crew.

The turret gunner, PFC Ryan Shugart, leaned over his M247T machine gun. "Hey Colonel, you sure you don't want to take my seat?" He patted his weapon. "You'd be safer in a close-up firefight with this bad boy, and trust me, reloading won't even be a problem."

Reloading. Garrison's mind shifted to the pulsing ache in his left shoulder. While the earlier attempt on his life was no longer fresh on his mind, it was still fresh on his body. Sadly, one thing his will power couldn't erase was the feeling of pain or the fact that he couldn't move his left arm too much without potentially unsettling the regenerative polymer sizzling in his flesh. He could block out the pain easily enough. In any case he would have a hard time trying to reload with his left hand, unless he simply sat down in the middle of slaughting an Elite so he could take the 30 seconds required to reload his MA5B one-handed, that is if his face wasn't blown off before then.

"No." He decided. "Thanks for the offer but you're better suited for that weapon classification, and we'll definitely need a good gunner more than a rifleman where we're going."

Shugart only replied with a respectful nod. Perhaps he understood the pride that was also driving the man. One couldn't simply call themselves the leader of one of the 105th's battalions and not go out of their way to get right into harm's way. His battalion's motto, 'Feet First into Hell' was one he took seriously as his own life philosophy. No one could ever say that he didn't practice what he preached, which was exactly why he was on the lead tank in the convoy, the one that would be the first to drive straight into that hell.

Before it did, however, he came up with an idea.

"Hey, PFC, you still want to help me out?"

"Y-, yessir."

"Then give me half your M6 ammo."

A look flashed over Shugart's face that suggested he wasn't too sure what he planned on doing. Regardless, he tossed over four clips of 40-millimeter rounds. Garrison slipped them into his BDU and smiled at the 80 rounds that appeared in the upper left corner of his HUD. Thankfully the M6 was a more controllable weapon with one hand than his AR would be and he just so happened to know a trick to change its magazines using only three fingers. Considering how long they had until the big showdown, he began practicing it out of the small chance that his mastery of the technique had grown rusty over the years.

:********:

The 2nd Premiere Wall's Gatehouse-9 was located at the outer boundary of the Sycion Block. To get there, the ODSTs of Squad Griffin moved again into the sewers to avoid Grunt patrols and their increasingly large encampments.

It took half an hour for them to arrive, and a few minutes longer for Deaks to find a good overwatch position as Captain Asana had directed. He'd found his most ideal perch atop the roof of a four-story liquor store with a conjoined distillery. He set his rifle beside a large brown bottle sign at the middle of the two buildings that read 'Bourbon's Best' and setup his bipod near the parapet.

He checked around to make sure his immediate vicinity was clear. So far nothing had popped out over the alleyway ladder he'd used to reach his position or the rooftops of the adjacent buildings. It paid to be certain. He turned back to his scope and did a slow, preliminary sweep over the area.

Gatehouse-9 resided at the exit of a lengthy boulevard, more specifically at the four-way intersection at the end. While the first two perpendicular streetways ran north to south, the last two led from the boulevard straight to the gatehouse's lift platform. The roadways were, as was custom in High Mediolanum, crowded with dead lanes of abandoned traffic along with the cadavers of former passengers. It was a mirror reflection of the two crowded underpasses, elevated highways that ran adjacent to the wall and cast the intersection below in their shadow. The farthest vehicular bridge diverted from its parallel course to enter into the tunnel in the wall before angling up towards an entry point somewhere on the surface of the Scenic District. The bodies continued up that route as well.

Deaks tried to ignore them. It wasn't because he had any partiality for the dead. They were gone and, by order of reason, the dead had no concern for themselves either, so why should he? The living were his sole concern here, that is if the commander of the 22nd Battalion really was alive and present. Still, as he scanned the streets below, he couldn't help occasionally coming across a man and a woman lying prone beside one or more children. He would immediately shift his scope elsewhere. He felt nothing, is what he would tell himself. He felt nothing because there was nothing left to feel for these people that no longer were. But was it really that, he wondered, or was it because there was so much here to feel that he knew it would overwhelm him if he looked for too long? Though he wasn't one for tears, he felt his stomach tighten when it came to sights like this, sights he wished he would've grown numb to by now. A numb trooper was more effective in this situation than one who understood the sheer tragedy that had actually occurred here. But just seeing the conditions of some of the bodies made him sick.

It was only when he saw Covenant dead that his sickness subsided. The dozens of deceased Grunts, Jackals and Elites littering the area were a welcomed change. The dead Marines and even a few fallen ODSTs among them had taken some of the alien uglies out. That fact gave him a sensation that he always got under such circumstances:

Satisfaction.

In a war where the enemy gloried in the wholesale genocide of one's own people, it shouldn't come as a surprise that they would similarly retaliate and keep trophies for others to both see and know that they could do the same. The Covenant took homes away from humanity by glassing planets, so he had his own way of paying them back.

Still, there were admittedly more human bodies than aliens. He watched the number of the former increase as Squad Griffin quietly entered the intersection from the northside off to his left. They filtered through the lanes of traffic, staying low while they searched for their quarry .

Deaks scanned around while also keeping an eye on the two overpasses since they were the only real superior positions to his.

Captain Asana radioed in. "How are we looking, Ep-3?"

Deaks examined Gatehouse-9, scouring the windows of its three levels along with the conduction center and its encircling balcony. His attention settled on the two Shade turrets on the center's rooftop that had apparently been abandoned after whatever assault had taken place here. "Those Shades are clear. The overpass is…also still unoccupied. You're green, sir."

Asana grunted, sounding like he was lifting something then laying it back down. "What about the southern and northern roads. Any patrols?"

Deaks sighted down both roadways. "Nothing sir, no patr-"

:********:

With an upward arch of his furry head, Archoneus sniffed at the air. It greeted his flaring nostrils with the foul odor of decay. But there was something else there, something alive. It made both his jaws and ambitions salivate with anticipation. He had to mentally force himself to remember that he came to satisfy the last one and not the first, although he was not one to rule out making an exception.

His grip tightened around the long handle of the Gravity Hammer that he held across his shoulder as he passed human vehicles on his left and right. The light of this planet's fading evening was absorbed by his ornate black and bronze-red armor, making his more than two-and-a-half-meter tall visage appear like a walking black hole. He believed that was what his foes last witnessed in the heartbeat that they normally had between seeing him and seeing no more. The pride of his own combat prowess, his large horned head piece was inspired by a species of giant predatory beasts that resided on his homeworld whose nature he wished to emulate. He marched with the full glory of his rank down a street towards the intersection at the base of the city's second wall. There he hoped to find his prize.

His rank and authority was one that he felt was respected by himself and his pack alone. It would explain why they were not allowed to participate in the fighting taking place further west. Unlike the throngs of libido-happy Unggoy, the irreverent Kig-Yar, the single-minded Yanme'e or even the despicable Sangheili, his kind had been singled out to be kept away from the battle. Instead, they did auxiliary work overseeing the emplacement of the fuel transfusion pipes by the Unggoy and Kig-Yar. The order had come from the very mouth of the leader of Covenant forces in the city, one Field Marshal Kozon Duracomee.

It was an unjust order, prompted in all likelihood by Duracomee's…distaste for his kind, the Jirilhanae. He had to be careful not to voice his full thoughts to any of his pack, even though they all undoubtedly thought the same. It was to avoid sparking an uncoordinated rebellion. The Sangheili were never above putting a proverbial and not-so-proverbial boot to the neck of his species. It was an innate jealousy brought on by the bipedal ingrates' overly bloated sense of 'honor'. They saw the Jirilhanae as a threat to that honor. While he hated that indisputable fact, he always kept his opinion private that the Sangheili actually feared them and rightfully so.

His kind were exceptional in their own ways, more deserving of the blessing of the Prophets than the Sangheili could ever be. While the Jirilhanae were relatively recent additions to the Covenant, they were more than willing to step out and display their dedication to the cause of the Great Journey. Archoneus' current actions were proof of that.

He decided to leave his post as overseer for crews of pipelaying Unggoy to attend to another matter. He wanted his chance for glory and he had come here to find that opportunity. Earlier in the day he had been forced to watch the human shock troopers land across the area in droves and push for the second wall, only to be driven back. For hours, their survivors had been in hiding. Yet there was a sneaking suspicion in his gut that told him to search here.

There was a chance that someone of value to the humans lay at this intersection. During the battle around dawn, the black-armored shock troopers and some of their lesser Marines were fighting fiercely for control of one of the structures known as a gatehouse. When they retreated, he noted that they withdrew from this position first before they dispersed in a cowardly manner from every other engagement along the wall. What he wanted to know was why.

If there truly happened to have been a leader figure here directing the entire effort, and if they were still present, it would do both himself and his search for glory a much-needed service if he found them.

So he had left and taken 9 of the Unggoy crew with him.

The smaller creatures grumbled amongst themselves with what he guessed was curiosity as to where he could be leading them. He hadn't told them where yet, and he wouldn't until they reached their destination. Then his purposes for them would become clear.

He stopped to smell the air again. There was a pheromonal pungency of living humans on the air. Interestingly he counted more than just one, but multiple. That was promising. Judging by the scents, he knew that he had brought just the right amount of Unggoy for the job.

:********:

Deaks lay frozen.

He stared down his scope at the face of the Brute Chieftain on the other side. The creature, with its light-brown fur and muscular frame, sported a Gravity Hammer and a trajectory bound for the intersection. At its current stride it would reach it in under a minute. He had to warn the others. However, he felt his tongue become glued to the top of his mouth and his hands become paralyzed in place, just like they were on that day.

:********:

Gladsheim was hailed as the most remote town on the most remote human colony world of Harvest. Its buildings were organized in a gridwork of wide streets that extended out into the Plains of Ida, an expanse of arable farmland lying between the settlement and the planetary capital of Utgard.

Corry Deaks didn't like his life there. At school he was bullied a lot and had once even gotten a tooth knocked clean out of his mouth by a neighborhood bully named Sammy. He had chosen to confront the bigger kid directly to tell him to stop his antics back at their school, only to leave the bully's front yard with a missing incisor and a deflated sense of pride. While his parents had done their best to speak with Sammy's parents about the matter, they didn't realize that he actually blamed them for most of his troubles.

The Deaks family, namely his mother and father had made the decision to leave Utgard when he was four years old. Their choice came because of the growing number of opportunities being created in newer settlements popping up across the supercontinent of Edda. They bought one of the homesteads on the outskirts of Gladsheim and settled in for a life in the countryside. Even though he didn't like the town much, his parents had made a good life for them here so he tried his best to do the same.

It was that same attempt to cope with life as it was that had made everyone blind to the threat that came to their skies.

He remembered that no one, not his parents or even himself had believed Governor Thune, the head of the colony's parliamentary government, when he made the planetwide statement that aliens had arrived at Harvest. He had declared a state of emergency and called for all the world's citizens to evacuate to Utgard. But the denizens of Gladsheim had decided not to go. They believed because the town was so isolated from everywhere else that these 'aliens' wouldn't bother coming here.

They never got the chance to lament over how woefully incorrect they were, because Gladsheim became the first settlement that the aliens visited.

Visited was the wrong word. It was more like a siege.

It was a one-sided affair, with one side overwhelmingly killing the other. The most the planet had at the time was the local police and a recently trained colonial militia garrisoned some ways outside the town. But there was no force that could possibly face a ship like the one Corry saw come to hover in the sky just over Dry Creek Road. Its oblong, curving shape and dark purple color reminded him of the creatures he'd seen on a deep-sea documentary that his science teacher had shown his class once. Most of the creatures lurking at those depths were dangerous, nightmarish even. His classmate and best friend Shane liked to torment him from time to time by showing him pictures of the cryptids on his study-pad, often earning a surprised shriek followed by a punch to the shoulder for his efforts. Corry would often check under his bed or his closet to see if the monsters were there. His parents had always told him that there weren't any, that he was just being silly and not wanting to go to sleep. He realized very quickly that they were right. The monsters weren't under his bed or in his closet. They were in fact in space, and now, in the air above his hometown as well as in the streets of his neighborhood. And they weren't hiding either, but looking for humans that hid from them, looking for him.

When the alien ship came, it sent out smaller, fork-like ships that released swarms of creatures with the terrifying appearance of flying cockroaches. They scattered across the homesteads on the outskirts, shooting people in their yards and in their cars with blasts of green fire.

They weren't even the scariest ones. Not by any means.

His neighbors had made a desperate bid to escape, packing belongings and family members into their cars. His dad was wrestling suitcases into their car parked in the driveway while Corry and his mother were grabbing their last things.

Then one of those fork-like ships zoomed in over their neighborhood.

Corry was at the living room window when he saw it come in over the rooftop of Sammy's house. Its underside cannon began firing down on everyone, destroying the cars and the people in them. His mother had to pull him away from the window right as a pillar of blue-white flame fell from the larger ship onto the Jenkins family homestead just two houses down.

He still managed to get back to the window as the smaller ship swooped down to the burning street outside, opening its passenger bays to drop off two giant aliens. They were covered with fur and blue armor and reminded Corry of gorillas mixed with bears. At their sides they carried shortcut weapons with crescent blades elongated along their stocky barrels. One that was helmetless sniffed at the air then charged towards his house with the other following suit.

He watched his father get dragged out from under their car by his arms to be dangled in front of the helmeted alien. It observed his panicked face as it tore open his clothes with the blades of its weapon, exposing his bare chest. Then it reeled back and thrust the two blades in deep, so deep that it forced his body high into the air.

Corry was about to scream when his mother grabbed his mouth just in time.

She turned him to herself, telling him they needed to run. He ran for the backdoor while she'd gone to lock the front, hoping to delay the creatures long enough for them to get away.

But Corry stopped at the threshold when he heard the front door burst open followed by his mother's scream. He went back, turned a corner and saw her.

She was off the floor, her neck and much of her upper body lying in the jaws of the helmetless alien that stood beyond the destroyed and charred front door. Its eyes watched the life fading from hers, then shifted to his.

The creature that he would later learn was called a Brute stared him down with a ravenousness in its gaze that paralyzed him. It took a step forward. His mother summoned the last of her strength, not to tell him 'I love you', only to say in a choking voice "RU-"

The Brute bit down on her neck before she could finish. He watched her eyes roll into the back of her head. Then he was gone, bursting through the backdoor and dashing into the wheat fields of Ida.

There was a howl then the sound of heavy footfalls following after him. He tried to disappear into the heads of wheat that rose well above his own. Even so, somehow the creature kept coming, stopping to sniff around then continue its chase. Its determined growls kept him running for what felt like hours.

Soon he spotted a sewer entrance, a concrete slot in a more open space in the fields. It was just large enough for him to fit. Hearing the incoming alien well on its way he got down, slipped inside and fell into a shallow gathering of water. There was no light, merely the sound of rushing liquids. The smell almost knocked him unconscious.

He sat in silence as the Brute reached the spot. It sniffed the air aggressively, scouring around. After a few seconds it howled in anger and left.

Corry stayed in the sewer for so long that he lost track of time. When he was sure the monster was gone, he came out. Whimpering, crying and drenched in sewer water, he began his slow trot back to Gladsheim.

But the smoke wafting from the town tricked him. The wind had carried it in a more easterly direction, making him think he was much closer than he actually was.

It was a while before he reached a road that ran parallel to the town. It was there that he realized how distant he really was. He knew by looking at the nearest buildings that it would take about half an hour before he made it back. By then there weren't very many structures left standing on this part of Gladsheim at all. More pillars of smoke rose from burning homes, places he had known and grew up around. The alien ship lurked above everything, pouring down even more streams of fire onto the settlement below.

He made several stumbling steps yet never made it to the town itself.

Two men were speeding along the road in one of those special vehicles he'd rarely seen called a Warthog. They wore Marine battle-armor, the man at the wheel having gold-tinted shades around his neck and a darker skin tone than the much huskier one manning the turret in the back.

The first Marine spotted him on the roadside and brought the warthog to a screeching halt beside him. "Hey kid, hop on!"

For a moment Corry wasn't sure who he was talking to. The husky man on the turret helped him figure it out. "Come on ya culchie, either you get a move on or we move on!" He shouted in an Irish accent, swiveling his equally massive turret from left to right across the skies.

"Anything look on the verge of following us yet, Byrne?" The first Marine asked.

"Negative, the buggers and apes are staying back." The other growled, more in anger at something else than the one who'd asked the question. "That ship's moving for the rest of Gladsheim. If you want, we can come back later to see if any other survivors come in, but don't count on these freaks ignoring us for long."

"Alright, tell Ponder we're on our way back to protect the evac site." The first Marine held out a hand to Corry. "Come on kid, we've got to go now."

Corry looked towards Gladsheim, remembering his parents. He hesitantly reached out, then stopped to glance at the town once more, hoping to see his mom and dad come running after him. But by then he was close enough for the man to grab his hand and pull him into the vehicle. He secured him in the passenger's seat and hit the accelerator.

The two Marines kept talking as they zoomed along the route that would take them over to the town's MagLev station.

Corry, meanwhile, kept glancing between the passing wheat fields and the rear-view mirror. He watched the smoking remains of his neighborhood disappear. However, the alien ship hovering over it remained in sight as it continued to burn everything below.

At one point he peeked over at the Marine that had grabbed him. He saw the name written on his combat fatigues: 'SSgt A J. Johnson.' He accidentally locked gazes with the Staff Sergeant who had been switching between watching him and the road ahead.

"What's your name, kid?"

"…Corry…"

He felt the Marine's gauntleted freehand rest on his shoulder with a gentleness that he hadn't expected. "It's alright Corry. We'll make it, we'll get you out of here."

Corry turned back towards Gladsheim. "What about mom? Dad?"

The Staff Sergeant he figured to be named Johnson shared a look with the man he called Byrne on the gun. They both had a kind of steely face that still showed a level of concern.

Instead of a direct answer, Johnson picked up something from the glass on the dashboard left from the Warthog's partially cracked windshield and placed it in his palms. Corry recognized it as a bloody tooth belonging to one of the Brutes, a canine three times the size of his own thumb. Maybe it was from the same one that had…

"They took something from you so we took something from them for you." Johnson said.

Corry's racing mind went blank at seeing the tooth and hearing those words. For some reason what the Marine said sounded right, true even. Something had been taken from him, much in fact, and now, something was taken back in return. His hand slowly closed around it.

"We'll take you to the Tiara." Johnson said. "Then we'll all go home."

Home.

The memories of the day flashed through his mind: his Father on the end of the monster's blade, his Mother in the jaws of the other, her eyes rolling back in her head.

He said something under his breath in a shaky voice that made the Staff Sergeant ask "What?"

"I d-, don't want to go…back. Take me some-, where else. Don't take me back. Somewhere else…"

He kept saying it until his voice became an inaudible whisper.

Johnson eyed him a little longer but said nothing. He squeezed his shoulder firmly again, then let the rest of the journey continue in silence.

Corry went on to survive what later became known as the First Battle of Harvest. He never got to see the second. At first, he was glad about that. But then he felt a rage within that made him wish he had. He had lost so much there. Even his best friend Shane whose family had been one of the few to leave Gladsheim early on had disappeared from his life. He never got to know what happened to him or many of his other friends. He often found them in his dreams, but more often in his nightmares.

At an orphanage that parentless refugee kids like himself were sent to it was hard for him to relate to anyone. Most of the other children were only separated from their parents. They never saw them die like he had or saw the aliens like he did. It made him harder to relate to than anyone else. They asked a lot of questions, and he didn't know how to tell them that the monsters their parents always said weren't under their beds were actually real, that he had seen them literally disembowel and eat his own parents then try to do the same to him.

So he became standoffish and isolated.

He remembered being brought to a private room once by one of the caretakers. Two men in weird uniforms were already sitting in the other couch, waiting for him. They asked if he wanted to fight against the aliens that called themselves the Covenant, explaining to him that they were the very same ones that killed his mother and father.

In his rage he told them yes. However, when they asked him if he wanted to join up with other kids like himself who also wanted revenge, he remembered his life at the orphanage, how he kept at a distance from everyone else, and said no. He vehemently declined any offers they made thereafter.

In the end they left him alone and instead managed to convince several other kids at the orphanage to join them.

That was fine, he decided. He didn't mind missing out because he would find his own way of getting payback against the aliens, and no grownup was going to get to decide how he went about it. The word of that Marine always rang constant in his mind.

"They took something from you so we took something from them for you."

:********:

In the five seconds that it took Deaks to remember it all, he also recalled that he still had that tooth in his pocket, the one that Marine had given him. He always kept it on him as a memento, like Irish did with his rock, the same one that he'd gotten to hold at the magma vent pool on Mount Csaba. That moment was the closest he had come to seeing his homeworld one last time. And here he was defending someone else's to make sure they didn't have to put a rock in their hands just to feel at home again.

He had connected the dots about those two men that had visited him at the orphanage to his time on Onyx where he learned what happened to and got to train those who took their offer. He knew that he might've become one of them had he said yes all those years ago. He had kept that fact to himself regardless and admitted inwardly that he didn't want to be one. That was for his own reasons, Epsilon being one of them.

Right now, he wished he were stronger than he was, to have the premeditated calculation of Harris, the mercilessness of Jonah, the honed focus of Roland and the unflinching determination of someone like Six.

But he didn't.

He was still frozen.

Deaks only had the strength to watch the Brute walk to the edge of the intersection. It didn't seem to notice the ODSTs scattered about on the opposite side. They were thankfully still protected from view via the larger vehicles and transit buses near the middle.

"Griffin-1 to Ep-3, say again? Is something on its way?"

The sniper snapped back to reality. "We've got a Brute, sir, a Chieftain along with 9 Grunts less than 50 meters southwest of your location. I recommend you pull back."

There was silence for a moment before the Captain's answer came. "Alright, we'll-"

"Found him!" Someone shouted ecstatically over the comm. "On my position!"

A Nav point appeared and Deaks used his scope to follow it to an alleyway on the northside of the intersection. It was Griffin-7. She stood in the entrance with another ODST's arm braced over her shoulder. The trooper she carried had to limp along to keep pace and bore the same recognizable shoulder pauldron Garrison used. The only difference was that its death's head emblem was red rather than white.

The rest of the squad quietly jogged back to her position in the alleyway. They sounded briefly excited to see that the man she was holding was alive and well. The hopeful atmosphere ended when Colonel Taylors' exasperated voice came in over TEAMCOM. "Get…Baccara…he's still…out there. He's the only reason…I'm still alive…went out to get…more survivors… f-, find him."

Deaks knew the name. Company Commander Baccara was the leader of the 22nd Battalion's Delta Company. If he was present then it meant their job here wasn't done.

Asana took a deep breath as he turned back to the intersection, weighing their options. "…Understood sir. Griffin-2 through 4, on me. Everyone else stay and guard Red-Actual."

"Do what you can." Taylors said through deliberately slow breaths. "If not then…we'll need to move."

Deaks watched half the squad filter back into the street while the other half stayed behind at the alleyway. Then he flinched at realizing his own observational failure and shifted back to where he'd seen the Brute. It wasn't there. He scanned further up along the southwestern sidewalk until he spotted it. It was closer than before. However, it seemed to be standing in place while its entourage of Grunts diffused into the lanes of traffic.

"The Grunts are moving in, sir. The Brute's staying back for now."

"Copy that." Asana said. "Keep your sights on that Chieftain. Don't open fire unless we're compromised. Everyone keep an eye out, we've got company."

Deaks kept his sights on the waiting Brute. Once his circular targeting reticle had turned red over the creature's right eye socket, he hooked his index finger comfortably around the trigger, steadied himself and waited.

Every 10 seconds he leaned out of his scope to check how things were going throughout the intersection. The ODSTs kept moving, searching under cars and delicately pulling the helmets off the bodies of fallen troopers to examine their faces.

Meanwhile, the Grunts kept moving. The conical backpack wearing aliens waddled about the outer section of the streets. For the first 40 seconds they did nothing except tentatively skim the exterior lanes. Then they began taking hesitant steps deeper into the vehicular maze. To Deaks' worry, the Brute was beginning to look more on edge with each failure on the part of the Grunts to find anything. Its brown fur began to bristle and the scowl on its face parted to show clenched teeth. He fought to focus on his eyes and not its massive canines. But as time drew on, fear made him look at them, to wonder what this alien might have killed with those teeth. He also wondered deep down if there was a chance, even a slim possibility, that he could walk away from this situation with those teeth hanging from a string around his neck.

His reticle gradually drifted down to its increasingly exposed jaws.

A full minute passed where neither the ODSTs nor the Grunts made contact. Nevertheless, the distance between them steadily decreased.

Griffin-4 broke the silent deadlock with good news. "I've found him, Baccara's on my position."

A Nav point appeared at a transit bus lying in the middle of the intersection. Deaks glanced over there to see three squadmates gathering around Griffin-4 and another ODST. The trooper he assumed to be Company Commander Baccara lay against the bus. Fortunately, he was still moving his head to look at them despite two blackened scorch marks on his torso.

Asana may have been about to give an order to carry him back to the alleyway when the first Grunt rounded the other side of the bus. Griffin-4 quickly mowed it down with a suppressed burst to the chest. Two more came around the other side as their downed comrade toppled back and opened fire.

The troopers returned the favor, cutting them down with overwhelming firepower.

Asana suddenly grabbed Baccara and hoisted him over his shoulders. "Fall back, mo-"

Deaks realized his mistake too late. He pivoted his scope back to the Chieftain in time to see it bound into the intersection to reach the source of the shooting. In less than three seconds it landed with a resonant boom atop the roof of the bus, crumpling it.

The squad were left momentarily frozen in place at the towering sight of the Chieftain, its black armor silhouetted against the evening sky like a humanoid eclipse.

The Brute glowered at them and released a throaty roar. The troopers broke off at a sprint as it hefted its hammer, preparing to jump.

Deaks shifted his sniper in a desperate bid to retarget. His first shot went wide, zipping past its helmeted head.

The hulking alien leaped.

It landed only a few meters short of the escaping ODSTs. It charged forward, covering three steps of theirs in a single bound.

Griffin-2 and 3 suddenly turned to fire in coordinated bursts.

If their efforts hurt their target it made no show of it. The Chieftain reached them in three giant leaps.

It twisted the hammer around and lashed out at Griffin-3 in a wide, lateral swipe. The weapon's rear-mounted blade tore through battle armor and flesh in a blink, rending the man's upper body clean from his legs and sending both halves flying away in bloody spirals.

The Brute reversed its momentum and swung back at Griffin-2. The hammer slammed into her stomach to crush her between its metal head and the hood of a nearby car. A violent wave of displaced gravity released on impact, instantly turning the PFC into a mishmash of gore that mixed with the succinct explosion of the car.

The Chieftain was unphased by the fiery shrapnel and red mist that raced across its path and caused its energy shields to flare a lightening silver, instead dashing through the flames after the rest.

Griffin-4 was the next to turn in a bid to buy time. His bullets pinged off the alien's arm-mounted shield as it raised it up, then used the same shield to sweep his legs out from under him. While the trooper was still airborne the Chieftain lunged like a shark and bit down on his exposed arm, breaking the bones within and eliciting a pained shriek from its newest captive.

Captain Asana turned back, stood stunned at seeing his trooper being rag-dolled and aimed his SMG. He didn't fire. He couldn't.

The alien seemed to have counted on that and used its 'human shield' to rush closer.

Asana tried backing up for a clearer shot while balancing the company commander on his shoulders.

At 4 meters distance the Brute used a freehand to grab its captive's neck and snapped it with a simple flick of its wrist, bringing an abrupt end to Griffin-4's screams. Still running forward, it reeled back and threw the sergeant's limp body like a baseball.

The dead trooper crashed into his living counterparts and Asana tumbled forward along with Baccara.

The two barely had a chance to react before the Brute's shadow enveloped them. Asana spun around, stopping a devastating overhanded blow by putting half a magazine in its face. The 23-milimeter rounds slashed at its visage, breaking its already weakened energy shields.

It maneuvered the massive hammer to ram the weapon's shaft into his stomach, knocking him back down beside Baccara.

Right as it leveled the hammer for another swing the captain rolled away underneath a nearby Überchassis. He took the chance to reload while the infuriated Brute approached the vehicle. It grabbed hold of the front rim and tossed the entire thing roughly aside.

But Asana wasn't there.

Gunfire caught it in the back. It rounded on the Captain who had grabbed hold of the sportscar's undercarriage. He rushed off to the side, capitalizing on the renewed distance between them by firing at his foe's vulnerable figure.

His bursts of accurate fire broke off parts of the Chieftain's upper armor in vents of blue gas and spurts of electric energy.

It shielded itself once more with the barrier on its arm then bounded after him again, pushing a van clear out of its way. That only gave Asana the opening he needed to toss in a frag.

The grenade bounced off the ground between them then angled up directly into the Brute's path. Its momentum was too much to stop and it had to have known that in the split-second before it raised its arm-mounted shield.

The resulting blast blew out the windows of several close cars with a resonant WHAM.

The Brute rushed through the smoke cloud unaffected.

A sniper round flashed by, causing the alien to reel back in a hopeful kill-shot. But the furry behemoth rose back up with only a bloody gash running along the right side of its face. It roared in audible fury.

Asana saw the gravity hammer arcing down on him and hurled himself out of the way, barely avoiding the concussive follow-up that threw him against another car. On his stomach, he raised his SMG to fire only for a consecutive hammer swing to knock it out of his hands, slicing open an unfortunate sedan at the climax of its swing.

He crawled back in an attempt to reach safety. But the Brute manipulated its weapon's momentum to bring it back around and jumped for the kill. At the pinnacle of its leap, it raised the hammer for another overhead swing.

The Captain's upper half briefly disappeared beneath the hammer's mighty girth as it came down hard. The ensuing blast of displaced gravity was momentarily condensed then dispelled in an eruption of dust and gore, sending out a miniature pressure wave that cracked the surrounding asphalt and propelled several nearby cars a full meter off the ground.

Deaks finally caught up to the smoke.

His target had proved too fast to track. The four bullet icons on his HUD blinked red yet only one of them hadn't been a miss.

He focused on the clearing haze, hoping that the silhouette within was somehow Captain Asana. He soon realized it was too large to be human.

The smoke steadily cleared to reveal the engagement's victor. The Chieftain stood over a crackling crater where what remained of the bout's loser were two legs connected to a pulpy mush of gore, protruding bones and pieces of BDU that had once been Captain Asana.

He willed himself to reload. The sound of a beam rifle forced him to think twice as he grabbed his rifle and rolled behind the distillery's bottle sign. There was a sizzling point on the rooftop a centimeter short of where he had lay. He crouched along the sign to slip in another magazine and came to the opposite side to look around.

Sure enough there were two purple dots glowing on the nearest overpass. He maxed out his optical zoom to get a more refined view.

The glows came from the helmeted optical attachments of two beam rifle-wielding Jackal snipers. The duo must have arrived after hearing the shots. They were posted on the edge of the elevated highway. From there, no matter where he went along the roof, they could always spot him and act accordingly.

He ducked back when a second particle round struck the ground at his boots. He shuffled to the other side and peeked out again, albeit it without taking out his sniper to avoid being spotted right away.

By then the Brute already had Company Commander Baccara's neck in its grip. It pulled him up into the air, yanked off his helmet and cocked its head at his struggling, tan face.

The trooper suddenly unsheathed a combat knife and rammed the blade into its upper arm. Though not prepared, it didn't seem to care. It eyed the blade as well as the one that had put it there then mercilessly slammed his head against the hood of a truck. Several repeated bashes were sufficient to cause the soldier's grip to slip away. Now that its charge went limp, the Brute saw fit to begin walking off with him in hand.

Deaks wondered what had happened to the rest of Griffin. He spotted them shooting out of the northside alleyway at the six Grunts approaching them from the intersection. The Grunts fired their plasma pistols from behind good cover, their greater firepower eventually pushing the ODSTs further back into the alleyway.

"Ep-3 to Griffin-7, break contact! Take Taylors and get out of here!"

Griffin-7's shaky reply came back. "The Captain! Baccara! We can't leave without them!"

"It's too late! Get moving before we lose Taylors too!"

Several uncertain seconds of silence passed that were permeated by gunfire. "…Squad break contact! Take Taylors and go! Ep-3 you make sure to do the same!"

"Copy!"

He watched the gunfire in the alleyway cease as the troopers got moving. However, he noticed that they were not running to the exit. From what he could tell via the Grunts' decision to go forward, the ODSTs had run in even further in…away from the route that would take them back to the water tower.

He understood why. No one wanted to chance leading the enemy back there and risk ruining the entire plan. He wished them a quiet "good luck" then sprinted out across the roof.

Particle rounds wisped past. The near misses made him move faster. He finally reached the opposite side, jumped over the edge, grabbed the rails of the access ladder and slid down four stories.

Still, the image of that Brute stayed with him. He'd had it in his crosshairs only to let the chance slip right through his fingers, and others had paid the price for it. He went on his way to the sewer entrance wondering how he would explain what had happened once he got back.

:********:

Archoneus left the Unggoy to pursue the last humans that had survived his assault. They had proven to be a worthy challenge, mainly their leader along with some unknown sniper that the Kig-Yar overhead were currently showing interest in. The worthiness of that challenge left his face bleeding with his most notable wound being the gash running across the right side of his face. That bullet had come close to striking out his right eye. But not close enough. Soon it would become his battle scar, paying testament to his willingness to face the enemies of the Gods undauntingly.

There was another sign of his fervency and piety, a gift for his superiors which he now held against its will. The miserable creature in his grip was not protesting that he was dragging it across the road. How could it? He had knocked it unconscious for its own sake after it had attempted one last show of bravery in stabbing him with the blade that was still in his arm. He would take it out later.

The slumbering vermin should've been thankful. He could have simply bit off its head and devoured the meat along its dislodged vertebrae, a treatment his kind customarily reserved for cowards of any species that made others carry their weight for them. Yet he had avoided doing so because he was 'honorable' and decided that he would indeed spare it when the wounded beast at least tried to put up a final fight.

Another reason for his mercy was because he needed this human. He knew once he saw the others gathered around it, risking their lives in vain just to rescue it, that it had to be an officer or some other high-ranking authority.

With a little persuasion by himself and the rest of his pack, he would learn the secrets of the human's overall strategy here. That knowledge would then be used for the beneficence of the Covenant, of the Gods and of himself.

He gave a toothy smile.

"I have many questions for you, human." He said to the unconscious infidel being dragged in his grip. "And you shall answer them all."

Memoria - Memory


	51. Battle of Actium - Chapter 13 (Fiducia)

Chapter 13 – Fiducia

May 8th, 2545 (17:08 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Mezoline Block

:********:

The Covenant Communications Jammer's sheer versatility made anything in the UNSC com-spectrum seem inferior via three distinct factors: signal suppression, amplification and interception.

With the first setting the device could automatically distinguish different signals such as those on the UNSC E-band versus those on the Covenant BattleNet. It categorized them according to rate of frequency, traffic and overall transmission distance. Then it effectively jammed preselected signals via emitting repetitive electromagnetic waves whose range over a chosen distance increased the signal-to-noise ratio.

The next, amplification, was where the device's modulated CW setting could actually prevent 'unintentional' jamming like radiating signals from electromagnetic radio frequency convergence. It essentially kept different frequencies apart via walls of continuous subsonic emulations targeting 'rogue frequencies'. It would decrease the possibility of transmission overuse that often arose during an emergency situation, thereby making any communication on monitored channels much clearer.

Last was the Jammer's most cunning feature of interception. The device could literally operate between different transmission routes. This was done through blocking those reception frequencies that messages were being sent to then relaying them to a different frequency, a Covenant operator on their BattleNet for example. The new receiver could then utilize that information for their own ends.

That last function made Duncan nervous. It meant, if the Covenant wanted to, they could patch into any detectable human communication's channel not fully secured then hear whatever was being said. The last thing they needed was for an Elite General to overhear the Staff talking to the Colonel about the jammer.

For the time-being the CCJ was carrying out its function of signal suppression and it was Duncan's intent to keep it that way for now.

Ever since his smartlink had established a connection he had found himself in a world of chromosomal characters that substituted for numbers and symbols representing letters and command prompts whose striated appearance was similar to helical DNA strands.

His work revolved around a hexagonal keypad emitted from a holographic projector above the main display. Its individual keys followed a honeycomb pattern that glowed a faint purple with each one he pressed. Around it appeared displays of various other background tasks as well as those he was actively affecting.

At first, he hovered his fingers over each character for the software to detect the patterns and match them against its calligraphic catalogue. Its findings were shown on a miniature screen on his HUD depicting the character and its adjacent English translation. When he typed, suggestions would appear giving him a more refined version of the word or sentence he truly meant relating to an applied function, a kind of Covenant autocorrect.

After he'd spent 10 minutes learning its main features, he began peeking into its database. He gravitated to a record of everywhere the device had been. When the information was presented in holographic form, his smartlink translated the words verbatim, capturing the data in all its religious dogma. Fortunately, he was able to figure out what was basically the equipment's shipping label.

This jammer in particular had been manufactured by 'Assembly Forges' in some place called the 'Urs System'. While the names were unfamiliar, he did recognize the 'CCS' and 'CAS' classifications of the Covenant ships that had carried it. Apparently, this device had been transported around 7 times before its most recent interment aboard the CCS Battlecruiser 'Enduring Clarity' as part of the '2nd Fleet of Theophanic Revelation'.

Duncan logged the information. Chances were high that all this data was a treasure trove for intelligence gathering. But that only made him remember where he had gotten this technology from to begin with.

Stolen or not, Renni did deserve some appreciation for bringing it forward and giving them this opportunity. If UNSC forces ultimately won here today, it would be largely because of her. Still, he kept that fact in the back of his mind out of caution. He wasn't certain how he felt about her most recent reveal or how the others felt.

She was currently at one of the booths behind him dabbing blood off Zack's face. He had complained through most of his biofoam treatment about it stinging his ears. She in turn shut him up by handing over a chocolate bar from her MRE pack.

Hector patrolled around the center, making regularly stops at the front doors opposite the jammer to check the outside lobby. The rest of the squad was securing the tower's last few levels.

But while everyone else was busy, Duncan found himself bored. He had already studied the CCJ's systems and they had another 52 minutes before things got underway.

Then something caught his eye that he hadn't noticed before, a shape behind one of the columns in a nearby alcove. He went over to investigate. As he did, he spotted the cylindrical stump whose silvery-purple sheen and four adjoined 'petals' confirmed its purpose as a Covenant holo-pedestal.

He rested a tentative hand over the dais at the top of the cylinder. To his surprise the glass surface was still warm.

Then slowly it glowed a light blue. Several chromosomal characters appeared and rotated counterclockwise around the rim of the dais. His smartlink established a connection and the translation suite reappeared on his HUD. There were options saying 'Activate', 'Shutdown' and 'Reboot' while displaying the corresponding symbols. He briefly wondered if he should warn the others what he was about to do. After thinking about it, he decided there was no real risk involved. It was a one-way communication's device and it wasn't like it was going to blow up once he pressed it.

He touched the 'Activate' symbol which he already recognized from seeing it on the jammer. A flash of pride went through him as he realized he was genuinely starting to learn pieces of their language.

The moment his forefinger made contact, the entire device came to life, and so did the image of a figure so close that it made Duncan instinctively reach for his SMG.

Then as it clicked that it was only a hologram, he slowly eased up. But as he took a closer look, his eyes widened.

It took him a full second to realize that the projected being sat in a levitating throne. While humanoid, its deeply wrinkled skin and amphibian eyes let him know it was anything but human. Its long arms rested on those of its throne which were only matched by its serpentine neck. Its hunchbacked form sported a purple robe as well as a large, gold headpiece inclusive of an even more sizable shoulder part whose ornate triangular patterns vaguely reminded him of a cordyceps infection. It was that key feature that helped him identify what he was looking at, or rather, who.

It was the ghostly image of one of the Covenant's leadership class, a Prophet.

The figure slowly raised both hands in a universally understood invocation of the heavens, a prayer. It spoke in its alien language with a fluidity that brought Duncan's earlier pride to heel.

He remembered the translation suite came with a link to his helmet's auditory sensors. He turned it on and a second later was listening to the fervent voice of an old man.

"And let us who walk the path do so diligently; that we will be granted salvation. Remember, warriors of the faith, that ours is a sacred devotion. Even now the divine winds wait to welcome us at its gates and bless us with transcendence. Let my words strengthen your resolve with an assurity that your reward, that our reward, is guaranteed. The fruits of our labor will be marked with a glorious passage into the world beyond our worlds whose majesty is unknown and unrivaled, whose threshold we will cross should our feet remain steadfast upon the path to the Great Journey. The preparations for the purification of the city are nearly completed, and the time of the Ceremony of Sanctification will soon be upon us. Work joyously, and I promise you that the reward shall be yours in two days-time. On my word, none shall seize it from you, but all who are worthy shall indulge."

Midway through the speech Renni and Zack had walked over and stopped to watch.

Once the prophet had finished, the message automatically repeated.

"A recording." Duncan remarked.

Zack stepped next to him. "Hey Irish, whose your friend!?"

Both Duncan and Renni winced and rounded on him, telling him to quiet down.

"Geeze, you deaf again?" Duncan hissed.

"He shouldn't be." Renni said, looking worried.

Zack laughed. "Just messing with you. My hearing's good. Well, not good enough I guess 'cause I have no idea what your friend's saying."

Renni eyed the Prophet. "You activated this?"

"Yeah. He kinda jumped out at me at first. I got acquainted with him real quick after that."

"How acquainted?"

"I don't know his name yet but..." He waved his hand over the dais. His HUD's mini screen showed an inverted 'k' symbol translated as 'Sender'. He pressed it and brought on a string of more symbols separated by several spaces. It was a title. "Minister of Iconography – Prophet of…Sanctity."

Renni raised an eyebrow. "Two titles?"

Zack whistled. "Must be a real bigshot."

"He's going to be someone's shot sooner or later. Does it show the source location?"

Duncan double-checked the interface. "Nah. If I recall, these things have an effective range of 100 kilometers. Doesn't really give us a small search area."

"We should tell Ep-1, then let him buff this information up the chain of command. If there's a Prophet anywhere near here then the higher-ups will need to know."

As if on cue, Hector opened one of the doors to let in the Staff and Nova.

Zack waved them over. "Hey Staff, come check this out."

The two of them made their way down a short flight of stairs to join them, stopping when they noticed the prophet.

The Staff turned on Duncan. "I thought I told you to work on that CCJ, trooper."

"I did, sir. I just…worked on something else too."

"I didn't think I'd be walking into a sermon. Sure, I had Quakers in my family but they never sounded like this." The Staff nodded to the projection. "Who's he?"

"This handsome face right here is the Minister of Iconography."

Nova chuckled at the notion. "He's definitely not my type. Sure, they can be a little matured but that." She pointed to the whitening facial hair. "Is too much."

Zack piped up. "You sure? He looks like you're ty-"

Nova shot him a glare and rested her hand on her holstered M6. "I'll shoot you."

He held up his hands. "Hey, just saying, don't be so quick to shoot down your prospects."

Nova sighed away from the topic. "This device has any triangulation capabilities?"

Duncan shook his head. "Negative. It's a one-way broadcast system. They can talk to us but not vice versa. If you want, I can get you a comm-pad. Then I'll see if I can hook you up with his number."

"I'll shoot you too Irish." Nova glared.

Duncan shrugged. "You're loss." He caught a mischievous smile from Zack that came off as a 'you're pushing it but nice' expression.

"Come on, Irish, I don't speak Covenant like you can." The Staff said. "Let's hear it."

Duncan checked around again, this time finding a new symbol that looked strikingly similar to pi. He hovered his finger over it to see its translation 'Repeat' appear and pressed it.

The image of the prophet briefly winked off then back on as his message replayed. Duncan linked the suite to his armor's external speaker for everyone to hear.

Throughout the playing the polarized visors of the Staff and Nova showed no reaction, though their body language exposed their growing concern. Even Hector stopped by to listen in.

At the finish, the Staff rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. "Well, that's a mouthful. Can't think of anyone bored enough to listen to it than the Covenant and us."

"But what about that event, the Ceremony of Contemplation was it?" Nova asked.

"Sanctification." Renni corrected.

"…Yeah, that."

The Staff finished his stretches and checked his rifle. "He also said something about receiving a reward in two days. Whatever it means, it's a problem. Hopefully, what we do today stops whatever ceremony they're having on the 10th. Irish, can you make a copy of this? We'll need it for the Colonel in case our offensive doesn't cause a big enough upset in their plans."

Duncan nodded and rewound the message, this time activating his HUD's camera to record the Minister's words. Once it was done, he pressed the shutdown option and placed the device into rest mode.

"Next question." The Staff pointed to the jammer. "You know how to use that thing now?"

"Like the front of my hand, sir." Duncan held up a gauntleted palm.

"What about the back?"

"I don't use the back of my hand, sir."

"Fair enough. Everyone else, you're free to move around but watch that timer. Be ready by 1745 Hours. Mito, Yuri and Rico are on Level 1 watching the streets. Nova's going to work on a special surprise in the pumping chamber-"

"Ep-6 to Ep-1, can you hear me, over?"

The Staff looked to the doors. "Go ahead Ep-6."

"It's Ep-3 sir. He's back."

The news came as a subtle relief to everyone. Even the Staff's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Good. Bring him and Squad Griffin inside. Do they have Taylors?"

A full five seconds passed before Rico answered. "…Sir, its…just Ep-3."

The troopers shared worried glances.

"Alright, bring him in and get him up here."

"Sir, he looks…shaky." There was a commotion on Rico's end with the sound of a glass door opening and footsteps coming in. "I'll lead him up to you."

Five minutes passed before Hector heard footsteps in the outside lobby and opened one of the doors. Rico entered first followed by Epsilon's sniper who was using the former's shoulder to steady himself. As they came to the gathering at the holo-pedestal Deaks fell back against a column and slid to the floor. His breaths were shallow and uneven. He put his rifle aside to slip off his helmet, revealing his pale face.

Renni came down beside him to check him out but he waved her off. "Ep-3, you're having a panic attack. Let me help you." She pressed.

He batted her hands away again, his piercing brown eyes glaring daggers at her. The medic replied with a defeated exhale and backed off.

The Staff crouched down in front of him and handed him his water canteen. Deaks' exhausted eyes brightened. He took it with a shaking hand, gulped down half its contents in three quick swigs then handed it back.

"What happened out there, Ep-3?" The Staff asked.

Deaks fought to get his breathing under control. "We found Taylors alive, sir…but…I didn't know…that thing was going to be there…"

"Start making sense, corporal. What thing?"

The sniper shut his eyes. "A Brute Chieftain. It reached us near Gatehouse-9, took out half of Griffin on its own. Captain Asana, he…" His closed eyes tightened even more in recognition of some raw memory. He shook his head. "I told the others to break contact. They took Taylors somewhere else…didn't want to lead anything back here since they'd already been spotted."

The Staff stared him down. But the sniper's fallen gaze betrayed no hint of a lie. Neither did the lack of blood in his face.

"How'd that happen? Weren't you on overwatch?"

Deaks was silent.

"You tried to kill it, didn't you?"

"I did sir." Deaks said, finally looking him straight on. "It just wasn't enough."

:********:

As Aquilla descended over the eastern horizon, Euryale-1's blue light washed over the city of High Mediolanum with the likeness of a celestial tide.

The Solar Evening was beautiful, Duncan thought as he looked out to the city. But it was also somber.

Since Deaks' report, Epsilon remained on high alert. The possibility was now on the table that the Covenant had detected their presence. The capture of Baccara, the death of Asana and even the missing status of the confirmed living Colonel Taylors were pieces to a potentially disastrous puzzle and there was no telling how they would fit together.

At the very least, Baccara wouldn't have known about the overall strategy in the 2nd Tier so his capture was tactically insignificant. However, it was also a devastating blow to the 22nd. Losing a company commander was no small thing. But if Taylors were to be captured or killed…

Duncan stopped his patrol over the third floor of the visitor's center to gaze out the encompassing windows. He recognized that the city's deceptive quiet was merely the calm before the storm, one that was about to begin with a lightning rod straight to the Covenant's communications network. Now, less than 5 minutes remained.

"Ep-8," The Staff called to him from the ground floor. "Come on down. Start setting up shop."

"On my way." Duncan spared one last look at the view of the city. The survivors of Squad Griffin were still out there. He hoped they had found somewhere to shelter as he turned for the stairs. On the way he sighted Deaks. The corporal was lying prone out on the tower's glassy observation deck. He had specifically requested the posting shortly after his debriefing. In the last 40 minutes he had yet to move from his scope. No one moved to talk with him either. It was best to give him his space for now.

Duncan headed down to the jammer where The Staff, Hector, Nova, Zack and Renni were already gathered. Pressing the main display, he brought out its holographic keypad to activate two separate hexagonal displays that hovered to his left and right. Both showed an array of columns through which lines of radio wave frequencies fluttered, reflecting different comm channels. The distinguishable difference was that rows divided the columns of the rightmost display into a grid, keeping radio waves of every frequency from reaching their endpoints. In each outside row was a uniformly curved 'y' symbol for 'Disengage'. On the left display there were no restrictive rows, allowing dozens of signals to reach their endpoints in back-and-forth exchanges.

"I knew you were a techy but I had no clue you were a DJ too, Irish." Zack chided.

Duncan shrugged. "Tell me which song you want and I'll put it through." He pointed to the left display. "Over here we've got tracks like 'Death to all Humans' and 'Bloody Salvation' courtesy of the Covenant's own BattleNet." He pointed to the right display. "And over here we've got 'I don't want to die today' and 'The Jarhead Crusades' by our very own UNSC. Take your pick."

"Let's go with Bloody Salvation." The Staff said, checking his timer as did everyone else. "We let it run first then quickly switch to Jarhead Crusades."

Duncan set his hands over the necessary symbols.

"We've got 4 minutes left on the clock people. Get in position."

All 10 of the squad's acknowledgement lights winked green.

"Think Hotel and the others have their CCJ's ready?" Nova asked as they dispersed.

"We'll see soon. In any event our focus is here. There's no telling what might happen right after we start jamming."

"Simple, Staff." Zack said. "We get to hear the music of a million pissed off Grunts getting kicked out of town."

"Oorah." Hector grinned as the two took their positions at the front doors.

"Oorah." The Staff agreed, bringing out his shotgun as he stopped at the threshold. "Ep-5, 6 and 10, how about it?"

"In place, sir." Rico said.

"Ready and waiting." Mito replied.

"Kak vy dumayete, oni popytayutsya vorvat'sya?" Yuri asked half-heartedly.

Nova butted in. "If they do then they'll find out really quick that they screwed the proverbial pooch in coming here."

The remaining time went by in utter quiet. The squad's eyes stayed locked on their timers.

Duncan watched it reach the last minute. Either of his hands hovered over an individual display. '10…9…8…7…' He felt a drop of cold sweat slide over his face. '5…4…3…2…'

At one he brought his hand down on the left display. His fingers besieged the rows in the signal frequency columns, tapping inverted 'J' symbols representing 'Engage'. His hand danced dexterously over each row, engaging the jammer's suppression functions and jamming local Covenant radio signals. Fluttering lines of comm traffic flatlined across the board.

He immediately shifted to the righthand display to remove the curved 'y' symbols, disengaging the suppression of UNSC channels.

The entire process lasted less than 20 turned and gave the thumbs up to everyone that had quietly watched him work and their collective attention shot to the nearest windows.

Time itself seemed to reverse as the blue hue of the solar evening changed to a red dawn in response to the birth of multiple miniature suns.

A series of detonations rocked Mezoline and its neighboring blocks. Several mushroom clouds rose up to 200 meters high in areas not far from the tower. One cloud to the northeast suffered successive detonations that funneled up to form larger mushroom clouds with each perpetual blast.

"Sounds like the Strike Teams got the job done." Nova commented. "Ep-6, what's your take on those explosions?"

"¡Eso es loco!" He shouted ecstatically. "¡Simplemente hicieron explotar los pozos de metano! ¡Esos genios locos!"

"English please." Yuri pleaded sarcastically.

"They just blew up the methane atmosphere pits. Looks like they used M168s to get the job done. As for el Grande Champiñones over there, that big cloud in the northeast, they must've hit their methane reserves for that one. Man, that's crazy."

"Crazy how?" The Staff asked.

"Crazy that they didn't turn this whole part of the city into Hiroshima in doing that. Their people must really know what they're doing."

"I'd hope so. Ep-3, see any commotion yet?"

"This is insane" Deaks huffed.

"What is it?"

"It's the Grunts, sir. The coneheads are so confused they're firing on each other. See for yourselves."

The troopers in the visitor's center risked peeking through the closest windows.

Outside, a wave of green mist was sneaking forward from a park into the encompassing streets. It was spreading out far from where it had been displaced via the shockwave effect of several ruptured atmosphere pits. The areas around them were a lake of fire. Scores of Grunts flailed about the burning walkways and fields, screaming at the fire spreading over their bodies that caused their personal gas tanks to catch alight. This produced a mass firecracker effect where hundreds of the enflamed aliens were transformed into roman candles that spiraled into the air in trails of methane before blowing up. The more fortunate ones hurled themselves into the steaming remains of the local lake, only to be boiled alive by the sizzling water.

Others shot each other through the haze in a confused spray of blue and green plasma.

A trio of Wraiths began launching plasma mortars to annihilate the perceived threats. The explosions rapidly expanded along methane clouds to engulf trees, grass and flesh. Duncan saw a stray mortar impact one of the steeple structures. The resulting explosion caused successive internal eruptions that blew outs its base. It slowly collapsed onto two of the Wraiths, killing them in puffs of blue flame.

Duncan noticed beam tracers adding to the madness below. He traced them to four black silhouettes firing from the top of an apartment overlooking the park. That had to be one of the Strike Teams.

Colonel Garrison's voice came in over the comms. "This is Neptune-Actual to all insertion teams. Well done securing your objectives, troopers. Things are getting underway across the district so hold your positions. We should be finished around dinner time."

The Colonel's voice was reassuring, at least to Duncan. It was good to know the 7th's leadership was still alive and well.

He overheard affirmatory responses from the other squad leaders including his own. Garrison wished them luck once more and signed off.

"You heard the Colonel." The Staff said. "Now we wait."

:********:

At Garrison's order, Convoy-7, 8 and 9 stopped just as the last explosions finished rumbling within Heraklion. The frontmost elements of Column C crested a hilly area of the block's western edge to be greeted with the sight of mushroom clouds rising from the Grunt encampments.

Natasha II had halted where the highway began its downward declination, giving Garrison a good spot from which to pull out his binoculars.

He focused on the main Grunt camp within their immediate vicinity. The assortment of polyhedral tents within one of Heraklion's parks was protected by lookout towers and plasma cannon emplacements that guarded its southwestern edge. Bands of hundreds were currently streaming down a north-to-south highway in a southerly heading that would take them straight to Ano Liosia

"Think they took the bait sir?" Marty asked as he eyed the masses.

"I'd say so." Garrison paused at hearing the recognizable roar of boosted gravity propulsion drives. "But they're not the only ones."

Three squadrons of 12 banshees each flew over buildings on the camp's southeast perimeter. Two dozen Ghosts simultaneously glided out from streets towards the location, all with Jackal drivers.

The two groups of assault crafts charged forward. The Grunts countercharged. Handfuls were unabashedly run over or sent flying before the sleeker ground craft. Some Grunts fired overloaded bolts that paralyzed Ghosts long enough for others to seize their squawking drivers and tear them apart. A few Grunts loosed deranged screams as they activated a plasma grenade in either hand before throwing themselves at oncoming riders.

Banshees strafed the crowds below with impunity. Those that gathered together to try and hide beneath the cover of trees were sent flying amidst a hail of plasma torpedoes. Recovering from their bombing runs the crafts would cycle back for another pass.

But Grunt Shade crews tracked down the flyers with increasing precision. Soon a dozen were exploding out of the sky or crashing into buildings.

"Well crap, I didn't know these guys hated each other this much." Marty said, gawking at the destruction.

"It's not spontaneous." Garrison corrected. He eyed the main throngs of Grunts continuing unabated down the road to Ano Liosia, releasing a battle-cry. Similar sized groups were moving from camps further north towards their border with the Jackal territories.

The Colonel grinned. "That was probably a Jackal advance force meant to cripple the Grunts beforehand." He shook his head, laughing. "They were planning this."

"Sir, you're saying they were waiting to kill each other beforehand?" Shugart asked.

"Seems so."

Garrison thought back to his summation of the situation back at the HMPD HQ: "They already have the fuel. We just need to give them the fire to get things going the way we want them to."

The Jackals weren't acting as though their communications were a problem. He guessed they didn't want news of what they were doing to spread fast enough for them to be stopped, possibly to carry out territorial repossession against their neighbors. He had to admit that, for aliens, that was a very human way to think.

Garrison let 10 minutes to pass for both sides to be whittled down to a more manageable quantity. Plasma fire soon reduced their numbers to a third. It was enough.

"Neptune-Actual to Column C, move in! We'll squeeze them northward towards Eden Square! Let's go!"

Corporal Marty quickly got Natasha II moving down the sloping highway. The rest of Convoy-7 followed close behind along with 8 and 9.

The Grunts and Jackals continued to fight each other, unaware of the third faction about to scythe into their lines. Convoy-7 reached the edge of the park first. Marty settled his high velocity cannon onto the closest Shade. Its gunner, already focused on a pod of passing Ghosts, was finished off with an accurate tungsten shell.

He drove further left to make room for the next 5 Scorpions that drove in alongside him. Together they cruised over the corpse covered fields to sweep the southern edge. Another six moved in along the northern edge. The Warthog crews split off around the roads and highways surrounding the park to trap remaining enemy forces inside.

The Scorpions' high velocity cannons fired into the tree-line to engulf the hordes of heavily armed Grunts taking cover there. Turret gunners like PFC Shugart mowed down those in the open with long bursts, breaking down the larger groups into smaller, decentralized crowds more consumable for the rifles of Marines and ODSTs marching behind the tanks.

Garrison could tell the enemy were too disorganized to fight back considering the amount of shield Jackals he was able to shoot in the back. After downing his eight Jackal, he ejected his spent magazine. Grabbing the next one between his pinkie and ring finger, he spotted two Grunts running towards him, screaming as they held two primed plasma grenades.

He used the two fingers to slip the magazine into the receiver, slid a round into the chamber with his thumb and gave both Grunts a third eye. They toppled back. Their grenades whined then detonated, blowing them apart.

Four more Grunts charged him as the tank drove over a slight dip in the grassy fields. He holstered his M6 to gun them down with his MA5B.

One of his troopers came up to stitch another's stomach with bullets.

"Helljumper!" Garrison called. The trooper turned in time to catch his MA5. "Filler'er up!"

The man looked perplexed. His question was halted as plasma fire came in from two Jackals marching up to the moving tank, one of them preparing an overloaded bolt. Garrison shot that one first, blowing off its fingers so that the overdone bolt discharged into the ground. As the alien doubled over, he popped two in its neck then did the same to its friend.

More Grunts ran towards them. However, a barrage from the Marines and ODSTs further back filtered out only five survivors that reached within a few meters of the tank.

"Colonel!" The trooper tossed his AR. He grabbed it out of the air and fired one-handed, sparing a three-round burst for the face of the first four Grunts. The trooper finished off the last with five to the stomach.

Garrison tossed him his rifle again. "Reload!"

"Sir!?" He asked, cradling the weapon with even more confusion. He flinched as Shugart began firing over their heads at an incoming Ghost. Ignoring the blue flames igniting along its fuselage the Ghost boosted straight for them.

Two 40-milimeter rounds struck the gas tank of the Grunt driver. The tank exploded, taking out the alien so that the riderless craft fell short of its target.

The trooper swiveled around to see Garrison putting a fresh clip into his M6. "What's your name, Helljumper!?"

"Private Gadsden sir!"

"Alright Gadsden, you're my aide for the day! Stick with me and you'll make it through this in one piece!"

"But sir I-" Gadsden's voice was overpowered by the yelling of a suicide Grunt. Its cry was cut short a second later as Garrison put a bullet through its eye. The private flinched at the jarring detonations that followed.

"Say again, private!?" Garrison asked.

"I'm with you, sir!"

"Copy!"

Garrison continued to shoot anything that got too close while Gadsden routinely reloaded his rifle and tossed it back, taking part in the shooting whenever he could.

The Scorpions pushed through the progressively isolated enemy pockets, targeting and shattering persistent Ghosts while turret gunners on pursuing Warthogs cut down any escapees.

Soon the advancing forces reached midway through the park where they circumvented an ovular lake.

Reaching the other side, they began cutting down hundreds of Grunts and Jackals now fleeing the battlefield. They were abandoning their polyhedral tents ahead of the Scorpions whose treads ran over and crushed them.

It was when a plasma torpedo struck a tank, blowing away its entire crew, that their cannons and turrets turned skyward to face the Banshees buzzing overhead.

The 20 remaining flyers flipped and aileron rolled in a desperate bid to dodge response fire. The tanks coughed up tungsten shells that eviscerated them in bellowing explosions of blue flame. Their turret gunners helped swat even more out of the sky. SPNKR rockets from Marine rocket teams in the rear assisted in downing one flyer at a time. The final Banshee flashed out of existence as Marty's eagle eye shot it down.

They spent the next few minutes eliminating survivors and trampling the remains of their camps. Hundreds of Grunt and Jackal corpses, flaming Ghost wreckages, crushed tents and blazing Shade gimbals were left in their wake.

As they progressed to the park's northern end, Garrison peeked back. He spotted a few wounded and downed Marines, 10 in total being carried on stretchers. Then there was the lost Scorpion whose scorched crew were being extracted from the wreck.

His estimations brought them close to 1,500 confirmed kills, mostly from the Grunts and Jackals going at each other's throats. Compared against 14 of his own forces left wounded or KIA, it was a good start. But they still had a ways to go. To win, each column would need to repeat massacres like this at least 20 times. To make up for the daylight they lacked, it was necessary for the three columns to combine for the planned push through the heart of Covenant territories. That would only occur after Mentieth was done with Eden Square of course.

Before that, Column C would need to annihilate the next two camps in Heraklion and the next three in Lamia. Then they would head south into Ano Liosia to link with A and B for the push into the Drone-infested Rhodes. From there they would cycle back northeast via expressways to carve through Agrinio and Mezoline with Sycion being C's last stop.

With this encampment cleared, Garrison delivered their next orders over comms. "Saddle up Column C, on to the next one! We'll drive them all the way back to the wall, let's go!"

Marty got Natasha II underway. The others drove or jogged after them. Garrison gave his new aide one of the tank's available seats as they left the park. He only hoped the private could keep up.

:********:

Lieutenant Colonel Serakovich bent back so that his AIE-486 Machine Gun's circular reticle was leveled with the passing buildings as he squeezed the triggers. The spooling effect quickly took hold, belching out streams of 51-milimeter bullets into the string of windows occupied by defending Jackals. Most quickly ducked to safety. Others fell through the shattered windows for their riddled bodies to crash onto the street below. Their bones often cracked beneath the tires of the 6 Warthogs in his personal convoy.

The Eleusis Block was mostly dominated by 20-story tall apartment buildings. This was where most of the workers in the city's burgeoning tourism industry lived. The housing was owned by the big businesses that ran interplanetary hotel brands like Eluciana and other attraction sites in the 1st Tier. It was reflective of the setup used by corporations that ran the supplies of mining towns like Scyllion on Charybdis IX, Serakovich's hometown. That familiarity helped him understand the composition of Eleusis and the lives of the people that had once lived in these buildings. Now the only things dwelling in them were the Jackals currently shooting at his Marines.

He withdrew his Scorpions and the ground forces early on after precision fire from sniper Jackals laced throughout the area had begun taking out his tank drivers.

To lower their casualties, he'd broken his force into two. The Scorpions, Marines and Alpha Company ODSTs would hang back. The other half, his Warthog teams, were divided into 10 smaller convoys of 6 Hogs each. Four of them were regular turret hogs working in pairs to act as the vanguard and rearguard to the specialized duos running the middle. Their goal was to soften enemy defenses halfway through Eleusis enough for the tanks and ground-pounders to have an easier time coming in. The Warthogs were to then circle back after reaching the midpoint to rejoin the main contingent. That halfway point was the Perseus Institute at the center of the block.

So far, the institute was close to a kilometer down the highway that his own convoy utilized. They routinely navigated around meter-high trash mounds and levitating gurneys lining the route.

Serakovich's Hog, the second in the vanguard, was intent on steering clear while he battered an apartments' newest denizens with suppressing fire. As he finished lashing out at one to his left, the two Hogs behind him started up. The duo of M12R Rocket Hogs, or Rockethogs for short, aimed their M79 Multiple Rocket Launch Systems at the enemy. Essentially two missile pods attached to a rotational gimbal, the M79s loosed up to 6 consecutive rockets with the power of a SPNKR. A total of 12 streaked into the building's occupied windows, eliciting terrified squawks from Jackal occupants as they were consumed in the fiery explosions.

Heavy plasma fire caught Serakovich's attention. He swiveled right and up to pepper the Shade turret shooting at them from atop an apartment. It crumpled under the fire from both vanguard gunners until one of the Rockethogs launched a deadly sextuplet of its namesake that destroyed the emplacement.

Serakovich barraged the next apartment's rows of windows. His speed of 100 kilometers per hour kept the avian hostiles from getting in a good shot. The Rockethogs then blew out the contingents within the lower floors before letting their M79s recycle their chambers.

They did the same to several more buildings until condensed plasma fire started coming from a deployable lookout tower in the middle of the highway ahead. The crown-like platform sported two plasma cannons which Jackals had turned on the approaching convoy.

"Daxon, Pierre!" He called over comms. "Tower 50 meters to our 12 o'clock! Take it out!"

He spooled his turret while the two M79 gunners set their diamond-shaped targeting reticles on the platform. Their rockets screamed out to strike the frontside of the target, rocking it. Another salvo reduced the platform to a small star of fiery debris that fountained into the air under the propulsion of the gravity lift below.

The convoy swerved around the ruins. Yet the flaming wreckage left them blind to a pair of Elites that stepped out from behind a set of barricades near the base. Their fuel rod cannons fired.

The lead Hog took the brunt of the four fuel rods. Serakovich saw the three Marines onboard disappear within a green and orange fireball. He immediately swiveled about to open up, striking the shields of the two Minors.

"Pour some rockets on those Fuel Rods!"

Corporals Daxon and Pierre unleashed another barrage aimed at the two passing targets. The onslaught engulfed them completely, chewing them up then spitting out their charred bodies.

Serakovich's Hog moved ahead to take the lead on their convoy.

In three minutes, they reached the highway's end. It split off into two streets that framed the rectangular grounds of the Perseus Institute. The miniature town of mahogany-roof tiled and white-walled buildings were surrounded by a sprawl of green grass yards and parking lots. The university possessed dorm buildings, lecture halls and research facilities bearing the names of persons to whom they were dedicated. Recently, craters had pockmarked both its yards and buildings, some of which were reduced to crumbled ruins.

A few structures hosted Marines shooting from the research facilities and lecture halls on the roving gangs of Jackals below. They looked to be winning as well.

The Lieutenant Colonel's convoy circumvented the grounds, joining two others from from another highway. They came around to the far end of the campus where they were supposed to swing back towards the main force.

However, they were stopped halfway just outside a Y-shaped Lecture hall baring the name 'Tobias Fleming Shaw' where a squad of Marines on the sidewalk hailed them down.

A Marine that looked like a balding CO ran up to the lead Hog. "You guys the reinforcements?"

"We are." Serakovich said. "Are you and your boys with the 4th Marines?"

The man nodded. "We're the 5th Battalion sir, or what's left of us. We saw you guys pushing in, figured now we really had a chance to get out of here."

Serakovich looked over his men. Their fatigues were ragged, dirtied from days of combat. Two wore blood-soaked head bandages but were still holding rifles regardless.

"We're currently clearing a path for the main forces coming here in about 15 minutes. Can you hold out?"

The Marine shrugged. "We've survived this long."

"Good man. We'll be back. Just stay alive till then."

At his behest, the convoy continued past. As it did, he saw Marines waving at them from the hall's upper windows. They were cheering them on with renewed hope in their eyes.

Serakovich smiled. He knew these Marines had been through the grinder. And now, finally, their backup had arrived.

:********:

To Mentieth, Eden Square bore a striking resemblance to World War One's Passchendaele. The trees of the decorative plots of flora that broke up the mostly cobblestone grounds were reduced to smoking stumps. The decorative canals along the sides of the square were blown open, causing the water to spill over and leaving little islands where the cobblestone was less even. Behind all that was the Eden Mall, a plexiglass building with several prism rooftops.

There were also areas that remained undamaged, mostly because they weren't where Covenant armies had met to kill each other.

Column B stayed a kilometer west of the junction where all three territories met. They observed the mobs of hundreds of Grunts that clashed with equally sizable ranks of Jackals over the square's western end. Plasma fire had filled the air. Shade Turrets, Banshees and Ghosts burned down the masses only to be destroyed by overwhelming numbers.

Armies of Drones soon came flooding over the eastern end. They swarmed over the battlefield like locusts, attacking Banshees en masse and forcing them into tailspins, slashing at and firing on Grunts and Jackals alike.

Mentieth guessed the strike teams had killed a queen which was likely to incite the buggers' fury.

Column B allowed what would be the first wave of Covenant forces do battle.

Once close to 80% of the enemy had died, he ordered them forward. His Scorpions led the way for all three convoys. They rumbled down the highways and stopped just 100 meters short of the square. Then he gave the order to fire.

In the 5 minutes of their first engagement there was one tank firing for each second of time, creating a perpetual cannonade that focused on any stragglers.

In the driver's seat of his own tank, Mentieth directed the Scorpions of his personal Combat Command A to target the few Wraiths that had reached the battlefield. His alignment of well over 30 Scorpions dispatched the less concentrated enemy armor using salvos that wiped away everything around them with explosive prejudice.

After cleansing the area with tungsten shells, Mentieth had them withdraw 500 meters to let the next hostile waves crash into each other unimpeded. As was expected due to the square's positioning, consecutive waves of Grunts, Jackals and Drones met here to slaughter each other in the hundreds. Their blood feud kept them blind to the true threat of nearby UNSC forces until the bulk of their ranks were broken.

It was part of his overall strategy to concentrate them in this killzone, let them mostly off each other, then wipe out the remains before they became too entrenched for the other side to defeat. That way they cleared the stage for the next wave to arrive usually 5 minutes later. A lack of survivors from the preceding engagement kept the others in a state of lethal ignorance, thus continuing the meatgrinder he had planned. For more than half an hour it had gone on like clockwork.

Then, after the fifth wave had come and gone, the influxes stopped.

With 1845 Hours now on his HUD, Mentieth swiveled his cannon over the battlefield. The landscape across Eden Square had been terraformed into a hellscape of shredded Covenant corpses. He made a rough estimate of 5,000, none being UNSC-affiliated. The cannon's rectangular reticle remained blue as it finished its search. The way was clear.

"They've finally run out of bodies." He switched on his comms. "Column B prepare to move. We push to Rhodes with the other columns then on to Kastoria. Mars-Actual, have Echo Company secure the mall then leave a few platoons to guard it. We'll use it as a casualty collection point."

"We'll get it done sir." Echo Company's CO readily replied.

"Everyone else move out."

The Scorpions led the way over Eden Square. Warthogs, Marines and ODSTs trotted after them over the dead of the marshy terrain.

Everything was running smoothly. Mentieth just wondered how long it would stay that way. Most of his concerns surrounded Convoy-10 which was operating independently of the three columns deeper behind enemy territories, bound for different but equally important objectives.

:********:

Duncan made sure his SMG's magazine never dipped below '5'. He routinely reloaded to restart the weapon's chattering conversation with the throngs of Grunts outside the front doors of the ground floor lobby.

He was surprised it took the Covenant almost an hour to figure out the source of their troubles.

At that point, the sounds of battle had drawn closer. Hearing the eastward moving nature of the fighting made it obvious the main force had reached the Rhodes Block beyond Eleusis. It sent local Covenant forces into a panic. Thankfully, they were too preoccupied skirmishing over fuel pipes resting on their borders for them to fully address their communications outage. However, around 200 Grunts had eventually wised up enough to check the water tower.

The moment the first Grunt stepped over the threshold it was met with a warm 7.62-millimeter welcome. Rico, Mito and Yuri had no intention of letting them in. That said, the gathering outside had every intention of trying anyway, so much so that half the squad was called down to provide additional support, Duncan included.

There were too many for them to dispatch alone so they resorted to riot control tactics.

Whenever one or two in the riotous crowd got the itch to take a brave step forward, up to 5 meters to the threshold at least, they were consequently calmed with a sniper round through the cranium. Some 15 Grunts went out that way. Yet the mob persisted.

But soon Deaks became too preoccupied with Sniper Jackals arriving on the scene to assist. That left everyone else handling crowd control. They took turns shooting through the doors to cut down those that got too close. Of the few Grunts actually armed, some squeezed off poorly aimed shots or attempted to charge, only to end up in a pool of their own blood. It was to send a clear a message that bravery would only get them killed.

Yet one of the Grunts seemed to figure out a way around that as it gave a battle-cry that started catching on amongst the group.

"Sir?" Nova asked over comms, being one of the few not present.

"Not yet." The Staff said. "Wait until they all charge in-"

Then one of them charged. The others screamed and followed it towards the doors, causing the squad to tense.

"They're charging." Hector said.

"Indeed they are." The Staff jabbed his thumb backwards. "Withdraw."

The squad kept their weapons aimed as they headed for the entrance to the stairs on the other side.

The first Grunts crossed the threshold just as Rico shut the door to the stairwell behind them. "La puerta won't hold them for long."

"Its not supposed to." The Staff assured. "Now we lead them further in."

They stopped in the hallways of Level 2 before the entrance. After only a few seconds the door flew open to let the first hollering Grunts stream in, then flew back as they were hosed down with bullets.

The squad backed towards the next set of stairs. Duncan spotted the bulkhead door leading to the pumping chamber along the way, noting the light over the titanium frame was still red…for now.

They slowly withdrew to Level 3 where they held the Grunts for a time, using the smaller hallways to constrict them to more manageable numbers. They kept coming like a pipe ready to burst.

Eventually reaching Level 10 they made sure to seal the doors to the front lobby shut. It didn't stop the anxious Grunts on the other side from hurling themselves against them with all their strength.

With the visitor's center so close, the ODSTs had no choice but to hold their ground.

"Ep-2 to Ep-1, are we green?"

The Staff walked over to the lobby windows to look down to the streets where another crowd of nearly twice as many Grunts had assembled.

"Not yet."

"What are we waiting for?"

"One last batch."

He watched them flood straight into the ground floor, screaming wildly. The banging on the stairwell doors intensified.

"How much longer until they start throwing stickies?" Hector asked warily.

"They won't."

"Sir, we don't have much time." Nova pressed.

"Hold." He watched the last of the Grunts stream in. Predictably, the sound of energy weapon discharges began on the other side of the besieged stairwell doors.

"Now, do it."

From her seat in the control room, Nova flipped the switch that would open the floodgates of the pumping chamber. Automated voices spoke in tandem with the blare of sirens throughout the building: "Warning, storage breach imminent. Warning, storage breach imminent."

"You ever heard of Titanic?" The Staff asked to no one in particular.

"Wasn't that a ship, sir?" Zack asked incredulously. "What's it got to do with us right now?"

"It was an early luxury liner deemed waterproof due to compartmentalized bulkheads that could seal off breached sections before the rest of the vessel was compromised. That feature ended up being its undoing. Once it got hit by a block of ice, enough compartments flooded so that the water used its own system against it, causing what should have been its saving grace to be the death of it." His statement was accompanied by the sound of rushing water.

"I think we'll see something similar."

The screaming beyond the doors turned desperate, then stopped altogether as water began flowing inside.

The ODSTs fell back to a safe distance right before the doors burst open to let a torrent rush in. Its sheer force broke through the glass windows, sending drowned Grunts falling to the asphalt below.

On one lower level after another, windows burst out, releasing geysers of pressurized water that spewed scores of drowned Grunts out of the building like a series of volcanoes.

In under a minute the surrounding streets were filled with knee-high water that flowed into stores and apartments. The last contents of the tower's purposefully over-pressurized pumping chamber drained into the manmade lake. Hundreds of motionless Grunts were left floating about, bumping into each other here and there.

"You know Staff." Zack said, taking a seat in one of the chairs. "I think you're the only squad leader I know to come up with turning a building into a water grenade then teach a history lesson while it goes off."

"That's our Staff." Hector laughed.

Duncan felt the gradually relaxing atmosphere suddenly shatter under the eerie thrum of impulse drives.

"That doesn't sound friendly." Mito said, gripping his rifle.

To confirm that it wasn't, two Phantoms appeared to the north and south of the building. They angled up from the streets to swoop in along its sides. Duncan watched them hover past their level towards the observation deck.

"Ep-3, get out of there now!" The Staff called. "Everyone back to the center!"

They ran through the doors to disperse around the room. The crack of Deaks' now unsuppressed rifle drew their attention to the center's third floor.

Deaks rolled backwards through the door of the observation deck and came up with his sniper already leveled. He fired again, earning the audible grunt of a downed Elite. "We've got Rangers, 8 of them! Two down so far!"

The windy clamor of multiple thrusters echoed around the upper floor. The corporal retreated down the stairs ahead of an assailment of blue plasma.

Elite Rangers dashed from the observation deck's onto the floor above and quickly shifted their attention to the squad below.

The Phantoms departed, leaving the Rangers to let loose with their plasma repeaters. Those were the least of the ODSTs' concerns as they ran for cover within the info booths and behind the alcove columns to avoid the two concussion rifles that opened up on them. Blasts of explosive plasma rounds struck their positions. The two most troublesome Rangers jetted down to the upper decks to increase the pressure.

Duncan rolled away before a trio of pinkish-purple plasma rounds struck the nearby holo-pedestal, destroying it under the explosive impacts.

He scrambled behind another column in his alcove and peeked out in time to spot a Ranger landing right in front of the jammer.

The Staff pounced from his hiding place behind the device to uppercut it with buckshot. The blast punched it backwards and it struggled to bring its repeater to bare. He put a final shotgun blast into its vulnerable visor right before.

"Don't let them touch the Jammer!" He shouted.

The squad arose to collectively single out one of the Rangers wielding a concussion rifle. Its shields shattered almost instantly under the offensive of tracers that subsequently cut it down.

Its colleague shouted in anger. It jetted into the air to release a shimmering cascade of explosive plasma that struck Hector's booth, blowing apart its ornamental roof. The ODST barreled over the table to escape into another alcove.

The enraged Elite landed on the ground floor to reload. Duncan, Hector and Renni swiveled out from their hiding places to shoot it from three different directions. It scrambled to get its next magazine. The troopers proved faster, popping its shields. The others joined in, turning it into a dead bullet pincushion.

"Focus on the third floor!" The Staff ordered.

As the words were coming out of his mouth, a hail of machinegun fire burst through the windows above. The familiar drone of autocannons slashed into the last three Rangers. As their shields collapsed, they turned to face the full wrath of two sideways-strafing Hornets.

The pair of AV-14 Attack VTOLs sprayed them down in a shower of lead, then just as quickly moved on.

There was silence for 10 long seconds before a voice came in over the squad's comms. "Ep-1, you there?

The Staff walked out onto the main floor, crunching glass beneath his boots. "Can I ask who this is?"

"Sure, we're outside."

The team shared confused looks. They slowly followed the Staff past the bodies of the dead Rangers. They came out into the lobby and stopped at the windows.

What waited for them was a surprising yet welcomed sight.

A dozen vehicles including Warthogs and Scorpions were rolling down a western streetway to surround the tower. They had a bit of difficulty maneuvering through the Grunt-filled shallows at the building's base. As they came to a stop, an Army officer jumped out from the lead hog into the knee-high water. He barely grimaced. His gray eyes and even grayer hair suggested his age. He glanced up to their position and spoke into his helmet's headpiece.

"This is Warrant Officer Ludowski. I'm with Convoy-10. We're here to secure the perimeters around the jammers for you good folks." He stopped to kick away a Grunt corpse that had floated too close. "Are you all well, Staff Sergeant?"

"We're all here sir." The Staff answered.

"Great to hear. We'll hold our position down here. You take care of that CCJ."

The Staff nodded. "Will do."

"Ep-1 to Ep-3, how's our Jackal situation?"

Deaks who had already clambered back to the observation deck reported in. "They're…all down sir. The Hornets must've finished them off on their way here."

"Copy. Squad, we're off duty for now. Get some R&R if you can. I'll take first watch."

No one moved as they eyed the Marines and Armored personnel establishing their perimeter, no one except Zack who yawned then collapsed into a chair.

It made Duncan realize how tired he actually was. His adrenaline rush was fading. But he fought the urge to sit down and rest since there was one last thing he needed to do.

He side-eyed Renni to his right. "Hey Ep-10?"

"Yeah?"

He tapped his helmet. "Thanks for the update."

Renni only stared at him as the others caught wind of the conversation.

"You did good, rookie." Yuri added.

Zack held a lazy thumbs up. "Thanks for the chocolate."

"…Yeah, nice work Ms. ONI." Hector laughed with palpable exhaustion.

Renni's visor depolarized. Her tired face brightened slightly with playful shock. "I thought it was Ms. ONI-lady?"

"What, you want me to call you that?"

Renni smiled and shook her head. She noticed the Staff from the side dipping is head in a respectful nod. "Good work, private." He walked off back to the visitor's center. The rest left one at a time to do the same. But Renni remained behind to stare out the window.

Duncan watched her stay there, lost in thought, perhaps thinking on how the operation was actually succeeding. ONI or not, she had helped them. Sure, he was still a little standoffish around her. Who wasn't around spooks? But maybe this spook, or ex-spook, was a bit more trustworthy than he expected. She had earned that much at least.

He left her alone to join the others. He reached an alcove column where Zack was already sitting against the other side, sound asleep.

Duncan clipped his SMG to his harness. He pressed his back against the column and slowly slid to the floor. He took one last look at the jammer then let his heavy eyes finally close.

Fiducia – Trust


	52. Battle of Actium - Chapter 14 (Prophetam)

Chapter 14 – Prophetam

May 9th, 2545 (06:08 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Ano Liosia Block, Eden Mall

:********:

The fighting continued well into the night and even to the dawn of the next day as UNSC forces carved their way through Covenant territories. The invasion met its fiercest resistance at Rhodes where the Drones defended their central nests to the bitter end, storming out of sewers and surrounding structures to pour out over the entire block. Ultimately, the combined might of all three armored columns proved barely sufficient to bring the swarm to heel.

By late evening, Rhodes had fallen back into human hands. With the way clear, the Columns split up once again, using elevated expressways that enabled them to loop back into the remaining occupation zones.

C poured into Agrinio and Mezoline to the northeast with the intention of slaying the remaining Grunts. B traveled deeper into the east with the goal of exterminating the last of the Drones in Kastoria. A had curved back southeast to liberate blocks like Veria from the Jackals.

Additional support came from remnants of the 22nd Shock Troops Battalion and 4th Expeditionary Marine Division that met them along the way. Lost squads and platoons began emerging from their hiding places to rejoin the effort. Others further behind enemy lines pulled off acts of asymmetrical sabotage, ambushing enemy armor convoys headed for the approaching UNSC contingents, destroying roads and ammunition dumps to keep a proper counterforce from assembling.

In the southeast, Lieutenant Colonel Serakovich connected with the remnants of the 4th Marines' 5th Battalion at the Perseus Institute, adding them to Column A's ranks for the push into Veria. They regrouped with a scattered assortment of Marines and surviving HMPD officers in the bombed out remains of the Titus Mega Gymnasiums. Their leader, one Captain Henderson, directed the column straight to targets of high interest. There they proceeded to destroy the skeletons of several Jackal ships under construction that had acted as the buzzard's center of operations.

Deeper in the east, Colonel Mentieth's Column B paved its way to the cultural center in Kastoria where the holdovers of 9th Battalion had been split into halves to guard the expressway leading between the center and the 2nd Premiere Wall's Gatehouse-15 through 18. The Marines gave them a clear path straight to the wall, allowing them to rendezvous at the secured gatehouses. Then they rebounded into Kastoria to isolate the last pockets of Drones.

To the northeast, Column C met up with the remaining companies of 2nd and 3rd Battalions at the Henry Gosse Parthenon Oceanarium. After being briefed on their situation by Major Krauss, Colonel Garrison headed out with two newly provided companies from the 4th, Romeo and Kilo, to assault AA Shade positions within 5 square kilometers of the oceanarium. From there, he called in Albatrosses from the 24th Air Reconnaissance Group to begin airlifting the civilians housed inside the building. For nearly an hour the bulky dropships lifted off from the outside parking lots and waiting areas where, at any other time, the thousands of men, women and children standing in line would have been patrons waiting to enter the oceanarium rather than be evacuated from it. Garrison had watched the last Albatross take off to board the destroyer UNSC Carchemish back west. The Destroyer would later depart for Treviso where it would deliver its human cargo to New Verona for them to be provided with medical attention, and most importantly, transportation off of Actium.

No such comfort was found for the Marines of the 2nd and 3rd Battalions that joined Column C in barreling straight for the Grunts' four major methane reserves in Sycion. Following a brief siege of the structures, the remaining Grunts were either killed or captured, though their chances of capture were non-hyperbolically one in a thousand since the aliens proved more willing to die than surrender their emergency methane. They quickly discovered that the UNSC invaders, the ODSTs of Bravo Company in particular, were more than willing to grant them the death they so avidly desired.

In the end, Garrison decided to keep the 10-story tall cylindrical reserve tanks intact. They were simply too close to the wall and doing a repeat of what he had done that morning was in no one's best interests. He agreed with Krauss to have their units keep a rotational guard over the structures with Romeo, Kilo and Bravo Company each taking 8-hour shifts.

At the dawn of the next day, Garrison had retired to the casualty collection point at the Eden Mall where Mentieth had called for a meeting of all the UNSC commanders.

When he arrived on his personal Warthog, he found the surroundings of Eden Square still layered in corpses. Yet it was noticeably cleaner thanks to the Corps of Engineers. A company of the Marine specialists had the foresight to bring in Olifants, specialized garbage trucks with 15-meter-long bottom chassis strong enough to support the Pelican-sized waste containment units on their backs, much like a saddle on an elephant. Five of the heavy-duty vehicles were cruising across the square with Engineers at the wheel, using snow shovels attached to their frontside to force the dead masses into piles, then shovel them into the receiver of their containment units.

Fortunately, by the time Garrison arrived one of the Olifants had already cleared most of the mall's parking lot. It was still difficult trying to figure out where to park since it had left trails of blue and yellow blood behind itself that disfigured the white directional lines.

He settled on a row of Warthogs parked near the sidewalk in front of the front doors. He flexed his left arm to check on its progress. While still a little stiff, his shoulder muscles no longer strained to flex in the ways he needed them to. He hopped out of his Hog and headed for the entrance of the plexiglass structure. The Marine platoon guarding the way stood at attention as Garrison passed through the sliding doors into the foyer.

The odor of decay was immediately replaced by the sweet and spicy fragrance of the bushels of Angel Trumpet and Dianthus flowers that lined the tiled passageway into the mall. Around a hundred personnel from all service branches sat along the walls of the glassy interior. As he passed by, he caught sight of Hornet pilots from the 24th Air Recon playing cards on the floor with Marines from both divisions, 53rd personnel and troopers from his own Echo Company. Others lay asleep on the ground using their personal rucksacks or the walls as pillows. Though most were sleeping, he noted a few had lay as if to go to sleep, but weren't breathing. Those were the ones that probably hadn't told others of an injury or wound believing they weren't hurt bad enough to need medical attention. Even Garrison knew there was a danger to thinking you were more alright than you actually were, which was why he allowed Corporal Leeds to patch him up earlier. Still, he always found it strange how some soldiers received seemingly life-threatening injuries yet survived while others with believably less serious damage would go on thinking they were fine then suddenly pass on. Either way, their comrades would eventually awaken to discover that their friend who they'd talked to just before getting some rest had died right next to them in their sleep.

He reached one of the building's atriums, a more open space with porcelain tiles and 9 floors with eye-catching curvatures that extended up to the glass-panel ceiling. Triage stations were setup on the ground floor. Patients, both military and civilian, were being assessed by the 27th's combat medics according to mass-casualty incident criteria or MCI. They sorted patients into categories of those in need of critical attention and probable transit to the UNSC Carchemish and those with lesser injuries. The first group were wheeled out on gurneys to glass elevators that took them up to the mall's executive landing pads for Pelican extraction. The second group were carried over to the stores lining the atrium, mainly the clothing stores where there was more material to use in the inevitability that tourniquets and bandages ran out.

Garrison rounded one of the furnished, Romanesque pillars that supported the mall's interior infrastructure. He stopped at an operational escalator on the other side that would take him along a series of others crisscrossing from one floor up to the next. Someone was moving for it before he reached the first step, a pair of Marines carrying an occupied stretcher. He eyed the patient's bloodied bandages wrapped around his fully exposed chest as well as the concerned expressions of his carriers when they saw him.

"Oh, sorry sir, you go first." The Marine at the front tried maneuvering out of his way.

The Colonel waved away the gesture. "I'm in no rush, gents, but your friend there is."

"…Thank you, sir." The first Marine led the way in ferrying the stretcher onto the escalator. Garrison stepped on behind them. He chose to enjoy the wait that the short trip provided as a brief respite from all the action.

On the other side of the comprising plexiglass the dawning world was still in its purplish-pink skied wake up phase, only it had never really gone to sleep. There were always the echoes of staccato fire that had continued from the previous day. An occasional Hornet squadron or pair of Pelicans would zoom past to reach some objective around the city. The same could be said for the Warthog, Scorpion and even Mongoose patrols that passed along the corpse laden streets below.

Garrison set his focus on the city and, for a moment, wondered what life in High Mediolanum was like before the war came to its doorstep. He envisioned its denizens getting up in their homes to drive their kids to school and themselves to work or to malls like this one for shopping. It was hard for him to work out the details, he realized, because he had been away from civilian life for so long. He could barely imagine himself putting on a suit and tie to go to a white-collar job like many people here must have done. Then it dawned on him that no matter what life in the city was really like, it would never return to normal, regardless of whether they lost or won. It was a reality every human world had to contend with that was discovered by the Covenant. Win or lose, the aliens would now always know where they lived. They would either have to face that fact as best they could or choose to live somewhere else. Most often chose the second option. That had led to the massive refugee crisis the UEG had been facing for well over a decade now, creating overcrowded worlds like Chi Rho where rapidly expanding refugee populations had struggled to survive. It was undeniable that people would flee from this place and never return. But it was also undeniable that Garrison's job and that of every UNSC Commander on Actium was to make sure they still had a planet to return to in case they ever changed their minds.

Speaking of UNSC commanders, Garrison spotted a familiar face standing near the top of the escalator. As the two Marines got off for a nearby store, Garrison merely stopped at the threshold.

The ODST before him held his helmet in the crux of his arm, although he didn't need to see what lay underneath to recognize the shoulder pauldron with a death's head emblem similar to his own. Even though Garrison was the younger of the two of them, by two years no less, the other trooper still had little more than a few gray streaks in his otherwise dark and low shorn hair, a miracle when compared to his equal's which had long since turned white. That wasn't to say anything for the several aged scars that crossed his face at varying angles and sizes, some of which Garrison was present for when he got them. But his most recognizable feature was the yellowish-orange ocular implant that replaced his right eye. Lacking any sign of a pupil or even an iris, the implant extended one slightly glowing vein of the same color up to his forehead and another down to his jaw. It often made anyone who first saw him think he was a cyborg. Hence why he was known among many officers and grunts in the 105th as the 'Cyborg Colonel'. In fact, that was his nickname for the man ever since the day he first saw it.

Garrison smiled. "You're not dead yet?"

"You're not retired yet?" Taylors shot back.

"Same difference."

The two shared a cackle capable only of two sarcastic and grizzled old men like themselves. Then they wordlessly fell into lock-step, walking down the length of the mall's 2nd floor.

Garrison noticed he moved with a slight limp. "You didn't stay put to get yourself healed u-"

"If you finish that sentence, you'll be making yourself a hypocrite." Taylors grinned, glancing at him. "What? Think I didn't find out about your situation too?" He pointed to his left shoulder. "Don't try that. You know that you and I are too stubborn to sit in place when we're told to."

"We're both disloyal dogs, huh?"

"We're loyal when we're needed to be."

Garrison nodded. "So, what'd they treat you with?"

"Some biofoam for the plasma burns on my leg and a few Electrolyte IVs. I had to sneak out. Griffin-7 wouldn't let me leave, kept treating me like some feeble old grandfather." He laughed. "I think I'm too old for that now anyway."

"Don't say that, because I'm the one here who looks like Santa Claus went to boot camp and got a buzzcut along the way. How do you think that makes me feel, huh?"

"Old Saint Nick was a big guy but that's because he was fat. You're stocky. There's a difference."

"Mhm. So how'd you even know I would be coming in when I did?"

"I didn't. I just happened to be passing by going to the same place as you and saw you coming up. Figured I'd say hi."

"Uhuh. Well, you've said it. You can go away now."

"I'm not going anywhere, Colonel. The pearly gates don't want me just yet so I'm stuck here in hell with the rest of you."

The two laughed again as they rounded the corner of a hardware store. They were forced to step out of the way of three of the mall's injury carts carrying ammo crates. The Marines at the wheel drove past them then used the corner to reverse and park into the store's open doorway. Others inside helped unload their cargo and disperse it around the space that had once held retail datapads and displays but was fast becoming the mall's newest UNSC armory.

"About Griffin." Garrison said. "How many?"

The look on Taylors' face slowly relaxed into a subdued solemnity. "Four. That's all that was left after that Brute came at us. They lost their leader, and I lost one of my Company Commanders." He stopped to give a long, deep sigh. "You know what it means to get captured by Brutes, Garrison?"

Garrison knew exactly what the horrific nature of the answer was, and he decided not to bring it up for both their sakes. "I'm sorry. I'll drop the topic."

"Thanks."

As they rounded another corner store, they spotted a ceiling sign ahead which read 'Security Room' and pointed right. They followed the direction down a hallway with a door on the far end and four Marines standing guard.

"What do you think Mentieth wants to discuss?" Taylors asked.

Garrison merely shrugged. "Same as always, where do we go from here. If I know him, he's probably already got the answer."

"He's quick on his feet, sure. And he's quick enough to get everyone else on their feet fast. But that same speed got us dropped straight into Covie town here in the 2nd Tier. Whatever we do now, we can't be hasty, especially since reaching the 3rd Tier is now an actual possibility again."

Reaching the door, the Marines saluted them as they let them inside.

The pair came into a room framed into an ovular central space by a quartet of obtuse observation stations. The room's three other occupants were gathered around a newly added tactical planner.

Colonel Mentieth, Lieutenant Colonel Serakovich and one Major Krauss were in attendance. The three turned from their conversation to see the last two members of the meeting stroll over to them.

"Garrison, Taylors, welcome." Mentieth said, nodding to them both. "Now that we're gathered, we can begin. First things first; our accomplishments. We'll conduct a review of the successes and drawbacks of the operation's progress. Then we can address our future offensive actions."

The other commanders stood in silent agreement as Mentieth waved his hand over the planner. The table-device winked on, immediately projecting a three-dimensional image of High Mediolanum's 3-tiered format.

"My Column B has taken control of Ano Liosia, Rhodes and Kastoria as well as command of Gatehouse-15 through 18 on the 2nd Premiere Wall." He highlighted the locations on the map with a swipe of his finger. "With the holdovers from the 4th Marines' 9th Battalion in place, we've got most of the Residential District's eastern strip under lock and key."

Ending his report, he gestured to Serakovich. The Lieutenant Colonel stepped closer then swiped the map over to the southeast, highlighting each location. "Column A's got Eleusis and Veria locked down tight. We destroyed half-a-dozen Jackal ships being used as command structures here, annihilating their leadership. Then we took control of Gatehouses 21 through 25 as well as 27."

Serakovich stepped back for Garrison to swipe the map over to the northeast. "As for my Column C, we've secured Heraklion, Lamia and Agrinio. We met up with the 4th Marines' 2nd and 3rd Battalion here where one of my squads reported they would be. I worked with Krauss to ship their civilians out to New Verona. Our forces also secured the Grunts' methane reserves here and in these three locations, all in Mezoline. The block itself is about 85% secure but there's occasional counterattacks on the reserves. Also, quite a few Grunts managed to escape into the sewers so I've had to send my troopers in after them."

Then it was Taylors' turn. He took in a deep breath and stepped forward. "Apologies in advance for changing the mood. I know I'm the odd man out here so I'll be brief. At 0700 Hours my 22nd battalion dropped into the city with the 7th. Our objectives were to secure gatehouses along the 2nd Premiere Wall, eliminate hostile AA and link up with the 4th. Since that time, we've accomplished one of those objectives, that being rendezvousing with what elements of the 4th Marines we could find." He nodded over at Krauss. "Then we made for our objectives." He selected Gatehouse 9, 12, 15 and 18. "My companies went to take these four gatehouses. However, we weren't prepared for the overwhelming numbers of Covenant soldiers there and failed to make any solid headway. I was able to send out a Broken Arrow call and got many of them to withdraw. We took casualties. Though reports are still coming in and not all my units are accounted for, at least 18% of my battalion has been rendered combat ineffective. My Delta Company has been reduced to a near state of non-existence and their company commander Baccara was captured."

Garrison saw how the others' gazes fell to the floor. He couldn't help folding his arms, closing his eyes and just thinking about those numbers. The 22nd had just over 1,000 Helljumpers. Eighteen percent of his battalion being rendered combat ineffective meant that somewhere in the realm of 180 of them had been killed or wounded. While any other unit would have been fortunate to have escaped from a similar situation with those casualties, it was terrible news for a shock troops battalion. ODSTs weren't normal Army or Marine forces. They were special operations soldiers. To lose so many at the very beginning of just one operation was bordering on the disastrous.

Mentieth had to have understood that, which was why Taylors turned to him after finishing his report. "I don't suppose that I will be getting my Company Commander back, or my Delta anytime soon. With respect to whatever else you may have in mind, sir, I pray it doesn't involve another massacre like the one you sent us into."

Mentieth met Taylors' stone-cold gaze with a strong poker face, one that slowly melted into empathy. "I don't intend on any other massacres." He said. "None except that of the enemies that killed your troopers. I am not absolving myself of my responsibility in saying that, however. The failure of that observational oversight falls to myself and myself alone. That is why I've called for a complete overhaul of the STARS satellite array we used to plan this invasion. There seems to be a fault with the system that needs to be addressed before we move any further." He stood straighter. "It cannot bring back the men and women you've lost from your command, Colonel, but you have my sincerest apologies."

The genuine nature of his empathy seemed to quietly dispel the tension between them. At length, Taylors, with a grim nod of his head, backed away from the planner.

Nonetheless, Garrison noticed something about the way Mentieth spoke of the STARS satellite system. It was deployed over Pavia shortly after the UNSC reinforcements first arrived on Actium. Now it sounded as if the array had run into some unforeseen problem. But the strange part was that it didn't seem as if the oversight in the 2nd Tier was the only issue involved, however consequential it had been. For now, he kept his questions to himself to keep the focus on their immediate concerns.

Their attention turned to Major Krauss who merely shook his head. "Listen, I'm alive and so are many of my Marines as well as the civilians they fought to protect. That's about all the tactical updates I have."

"Noted." Mentieth said, zooming out the image to that of the entire planet. He swiveled it so that they could see Pavia and Preveza as well as the Koronea Sea. Six green dots were highlighted along the coasts, three on Pavia's west and three on Preveza's east. He pointed to two cities on Pavia's western seaboard, one to the north of High Mediolanum and one to the south.

"At 0300 Hours today, Task Force 2 captured New Eretria. Task Force 3 is also expected to take High Estonia in the next hour."

He turned over to the western hemisphere. "While Task Force 4 was able to secure New Athens late yesterday, 5 is currently bogged down in Patras." He paused. "Task Force 6 has failed to take Caerleon."

If they hadn't before, everyone in the room was now paying full attention with wide-eyes.

"They're facing fierce opposition both in the atmosphere and on the ground. A group of Covenant ships managed to hold parts of Battlegroup Crimson sent to drop forces off to the capital while the rest are facing larger elements of that second Covenant fleet. Currently, the two other western task force commanders are planning to reinforce the assault on Caerleon once Patras is retaken."

"They couldn't take the capital?" Garrison asked more to himself than to Mentieth. "But they had practically twice the ships we did for High Mediolanum."

"They did. The fighting there is quickly becoming a bloody stalemate. Right now, there's nothing we can do for them except take Mediolanum so that we can send additional backup."

Krauss thought it over. "Wait, if the Covenant actually manage to pull it off in holding the city, couldn't they also swing back around to retake lost coastal territories?"

"They can, which is why Task Force 6 must be reinforced as soon as possible. However, the same potentiality applies to High Mediolanum. If we fail here then the Covenant can sweep back out to address losses like New Eretria and High Estonia."

The room remained quiet as the officers contemplated the full ramifications of a stalemate in either capital.

Mentieth steered the conversation back to the tactical planner as he zoomed in on High Mediolanum's 2nd Premiere Wall. "Now we need to shift our intentions to the push into the last remaining territory."

"The 3rd Tier." Serakovich exhaled. "If its anything like what we encountered down here…"

"We're compensating for that." Mentieth assured. "The Covenant know this will be their last stand. They will of course fiercely defend what they have left. I've requested for the UNSC Carchemish to bring back special units from the 53rd's divisional base near New Verona in response. They'll be back later this afternoon. We'll need every trump card and gatehouse we can get our hands on, which is also why I'm deciding to extend our preparations to the rest of the day. Given that our forces are still spread out trying to secure the Residential District, it would be wise for us to consolidate our provisions and prepare for the secondary assault. Longsword squadrons from the 24th Air Reconnaissance identified multiple targets of interest. The information on them in addition to each unit's place in the overall operation has already been sent to your HUDs. I'm giving us until dawn tomorrow to be prepared."

On the display, three pockets of gatehouses were highlighted in green, the very same ones secured by the armored columns. The structures themselves began travelling up the wall before coming to a stop and releasing yellow semicircles that protruded into the Scenic District. They were subsequently met with smaller but more plentiful red dots that surged against them. "We'll use these gatehouses to send up combined ground forces that will secure their hold in the 3rd Tier's upper terminals. Their purpose essentially is to concentrate Covenant forces willing to pounce on us right away into these areas."

Dozens of yellow-colored Pelicans and Hornets began flying into standby positions just outside the upper terminals. At the same time, one of Battlegroup Indigo's three destroyers, UNSC Tower of Babel moved a few kilometers above the 3rd Tier's tallest skyscrapers. "Depending on the severity of enemy concentrations, the 24th Air Recon will be deployed to land flanking forces behind them while craft with more offensive capabilities target the masses converging on friendly positions. However, if that isn't sufficient then I will authorize the usage of small-scale low orbital strikes from the Tower of Babel under the coordination of forces on the ground. And yes, that includes Archer Missile launches should the need arise."

"Archer missiles so close to friendly forces sir?" Krauss inquired, gesturing towards the destroyer. "Isn't that just as good as glassing the city you came to save?"

Mentieth shook his head. "If that were our goal, I would call for the use of FENRIS or HAVOK tactical nukes. In this case I'm only authorizing low orbital bombardments in open areas which is what makes the promenade behind the 2nd Premiere Wall so ideal to conduct the beginning stage of this operation. We can perform what Colonel Garrison did in holding off Covenant forces at the 1st Premiere, just on a more controllable scale."

Garrison spotted Taylors giving him a mocking look from the corner of his periphery and chose to ignore him.

The image altered to show yellow friendly forces pushing back the red masses then dissolving them entirely. They continued on to various objectives throughout the city, touching and highlighting them yellow in turn as they moved east. They eventually reached the 3rd Premiere Wall, causing pockets of Gatehouses to turn yellow followed by the rest of the massive barrier. "The name of the game is still shock and awe. We'll continue operating in our armored columns, moving forward with assistance from the 24th as well as the Tower of Babel. Each column has its list of key objectives needed for our advance. We'll eventually end here at the 3rd Premiere and secure it to cut off any remaining Covenant still in the city."

Mentieth looked over the display with tired eyes. "Then High Mediolanum will be retaken."

"It's a good plan." Taylors commented. "But do we have an idea of their strengths, numbers, mobile armor details? That info will help us avoid a repeat of yesterday."

"I've had the rough estimations from satellite operators aboard the Tower of Babel cross-examined by those at the JSOC basecamp in the Isles of Scilly. They're confirmed close to 50,000 Covenant personnel with enemy armor ranging from Ghosts and Wraiths to five confirmed Type-47B Deutoros Scarabs mostly stationed near the district's center. There are also a considerable number of AA shades scattered throughout, though nowhere near as many as in the Residential District or as troublesome as Tyrants."

"Fifty-thousand isn't bad." Serakovich said, rubbing his temples. "The fact I can say that with a straight face just shows how bad we've already had it."

"It seems they were mostly concentrated in the 2nd Tier." Krauss pointed out. "That makes life a lot easier, right? We drive in and kill anything that isn't human, take the wall and call it a day."

Garrison shrugged. "It's not like we're outnumbered 4 to 1 anymore. It's just 2 to 1 now. And with the Tower of Babel in play we'll have a better chance."

Taylors remained the last one to voice his opinion. He eyed both the display and the colonel using it. "It makes sense. My Battalion will do what we can, sir."

Mentieth nodded. "And what about you? Are you certain you don't need more rest?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I think I've been out of the action for long enough."

"Good to hear. Now, there's something else that needs to be addressed. It's the main reason why I've decided to call off the invasion for today."

High Mediolanum disappeared as the holograph morphed into the image of a creature everyone in the room understood to be a prophet. The crowned alien had its hands raised upwards. It spoke in the translated voice of an old man for the better part of a minute.

Mentieth waited for the message to finish "This is the Minister of Iconography, also known as the Prophet of Sanctity. His message was discovered by Garrison's Squad Epsilon that was tasked with holding a jammer in Mezoline. It was verified through the discoveries of Squad Hotel who proved inventive enough to use their jammer's connection to the Covenant BattleNet to trace a major broadcasting signal back to this location." He used a hand to drag their view of High Mediolanum further west, passing the bay until they stopped at the oil rigs lying just outside the Gulam Archipelago. A large red square blinked along a section of the Koronea Sea, right on the outskirts of the loose amalgam of rigs.

"Navy Special Forces were sent to this region yesterday to investigate an area on the seafloor that intelligence suggested was the source of the broadcasting, the same one that squads Hotel and Epsilon later catalogued. They're findings came in early this morning." He focused on the leader of the 7th Battalion. "Garrison, this will fall mainly to one of your companies that we'll need to tackle this situation immediately."

:********:

Eden Mall's food court was a haven for the hundreds of personnel presently eating from its many restaurants. The central floor was encircled with options whose signs were aglow thanks to the newly restarted generators. There were restaurants like Havadi Goodwin, Jim Dandy, Mariano's Churrascaria and World Cuisine among many others.

The smell of fried goods was on the air and it more than drew the attention of Marines, ODSTs and pilots to the front service desks of the recently reopened eateries. Culinary experts from the 53rd Armored Division had come in to begin serving anyone that wanted it the food they would have enjoyed as civilians. Under the personal order of Colonel Mentieth, these experts took the menus of the mall's closed food court and began serving the men and women of Task Force 1 breakfast as a reward for their actions in taking the 2nd Tier.

Epsilon had found its way to the mall around 0500 Hours after Garrison had informed the Insertion Teams they could dispose of the jammers. Duncan had set theirs to self-destruct then got to a safe distance with the rest of the squad to watch the device detonate. Then they were free to leave with Warrant Officer Ludowski's section of Convoy-10 for the safety of Ano Liosia.

They got close to half an hour more of sleep then woke up to a squad of Marines spreading the word about the food court being reopened. Of course, they couldn't simply turn away such an offer, sleep or no sleep, especially given that they could actually smell the fragrance of food wafting down from the 2nd floor.

Since the number of people at the mall was already small, it being mainly a casualty collection point, they were able to find themselves a spot out of the hundreds of rectangular tables. Theirs lay at the labyrinth's center close to a decorative pot of palm trees.

Everyone went out to choose their own food options. Duncan had decided on Mariano's Churrascaria, the South American themed restaurant that displayed its assortment of barbecued meats on rotating spits. Their rich, salty smell could draw him from a mile away. It reminded him of the Churrascaria restaurant just down the street from his and Erica's apartment.

As he got on the line to tell the 53rd's expert cooks what he wanted from the rodizio style buffet before him, he thought back to how he used to do the same on nights out with Erica. They would both be wearing their coats but she would always be wrapped around his arm for more warmth as they decided what they wanted. Then they would head back to their apartment to watch a movie together, one hand carrying a plastic bag full of food and the other holding on to each other.

Thinking on all that almost left him deaf until the server told him for the third time that his order was ready. He headed back with his container in hand. He took in deep, satisfied breaths of the fresh food inside and felt his stomach grumble as he finally sat down at Epsilon's table. He was the straggler of the group since everyone else were already eating, everyone except Zack who arrived last and sat down between him and Nova.

"Alright Irish." Zack smiled, leaning over to him. "What you got for me?"

Duncan elbowed him in the ribs, earning a grunt of pained amusement from the radioman who'd rested his equipment down against his seat.

"Come on, please?" Zack looked to him pleadingly.

With a grimace, Duncan popped the cover on his container. Steam wafted from the kabobbed slices of beef and ham separated with complementary greens and sautéed with Mariano's special barbecue sauce that gave it its golden glaze. In a separated section were two fist-sized chicken breasts with bacon strips seared to their sides. Topping off the morning meal was a golden-brown breakfast muffin occupying the last section.

Zack was left gawking at the beauty before him. "How-, how did they-, what!?"

"The answer is no." Duncan said, shooting down his hopes well in advance, or so he thought.

"My answer is yes."

Before Duncan could react, his squadmate reached over, then stopped at feeling a knife against his neck. Wielding her knife and equally dangerous stare, Nova looked unamused. "I suggest you leave Irish's food be. And if you try anything with mine." She pressed the blade further against his jugular.

Zack nervously swallowed. He steadily retracted his hand from Duncan's container, prompting Nova to return to cutting her egg and sausage omelet. As everyone else ate, Zack popped open his own container to reveal a serving of fries with a hamburger sandwich, only the meat was not the usual.

Duncan identified the dark brown fritters that replaced the patty for what they were as Zack took his first bite. "Is that Moa?"

"Moa Nuggets." Zack corrected through his chewing. "I got it from the World Cuisine place. One of the ladies working there decided to do some experiments with their nuggets and sandwiches, and heck, why not? It's the closest I've gotten to that Moa Burger they've been promising since that drawing on the Trafalgar." He held it up for everyone to see. "Low and behold you mortals, the majesty that is this sandwich."

"Did you get enough sleep last night?" Deaks asked, regardless of his own baggy eyes as he used his fork to pick unenthusiastically over his spaghetti. "Because I didn't. That was mostly because of yours and Heck's snoring. And now you want to make noise about food while others are still tired? It's like you're looking for me to put Silver Buddha to work."

"Why don't you put it to work in the kitchen over at World Cuisine?" Zack jeered back. "That'd make the world a much better place."

"If I go there, someone's going to disappear at the same time as I introduce a new menu item, and it'll probably be you."

"Well, we all have our own ways of saving humanity, Corporal Deaks." Zack winked. "Mines is one sandwich at a time."

"Your life philosophy is inspiring, honestly." Hector laughed. "Plato would be proud to know all his years of hard work led to human beings like you today."

"What's a Plato? Is that some type of special plate?"

Hector stared at him for a moment, then returned to his bowl of crab soup.

As everyone else continued eating, the Staff sat at the head of the table quietly sipping his mug of freshly ground coffee from the nearby Jim Dandy. All the while, he eyed the squad's newest additions. He watched when Zack pretended to leave for the bathroom in a feint to move around the court and ambush Mito from behind in an attempt to quietly pull out his katana. But the very second that he grasped the handle, Mito's hand shot like lightening to grab his wrist while he used the other to eat more of his hot serving of soba noodles from Matsumae's Takeaway. The radioman remained trapped there like a deer caught in the headlights until his squadmate finally rounded on him with a disapproving smile. "If you want to touch the Yamamoto Aka, you must first earn the Yamamoto Aka."

Before Zack could reply, Deaks slid out Silver Buddha and angled it up at the sneaky radioman. "And I've got first dibs on that 'earning' thing so you best get in line."

"That's only if we win here." Mito said.

"We're literally eating food in a mall where the Covenant just invaded. I think we're well on our way to that, don't you?"

Mito shrugged and released Zack's hand, allowing him to scamper back to his seat where Nova spared him a correctional slap to the back of the head before proceeding to scold him like an older sister would an annoying younger brother.

The Staff took another sip of his coffee as his attention settled on the squad's final member.

Renni was eating on the opposite end of the table and talking between Rico and Yuri about the different language barriers between Russian, Spanish and English."

"I still think English is easiest to learn." Yuri said. "Rules are simple and you don't need worry about understanding someone with broken English thinking it's completely new language."

Rico laughed at his answer. "That's rich coming from you, Matchstick."

"That's rich coming from guy whose name literally means 'rich'." Yuri shot back.

"Hey, my uncle knew what he was doing when he named me, alright?"

"If you were rich like namesake we wouldn't need to work in this outfit. We would be set for life on some secret hideout for ultra-wealthy like Beta Gabriel."

"No-no-no, you're missing the point, Ivan. You're all as rich as you can be. Want to know why?"

Yuri raised a curious brow. "Why?"

Rico pointed to himself. "Because you all have me."

Now it was Yuri's turn to break out laughing. "Was that supposed to rhyme? You're no Mandelstam or Yesenin but you're alright I guess."

"Thanks."

Renni, having eyed Yuri's plate for a while already, pointed to one of the pieces of boiled beef. "Can I?"

"Sure." He let her take it with her fork and try it out. One tentative bite led to another and her face glowed with satisfaction.

She stared at her empty fork. "Wow. Hey? Do they have samples of this?"

"Nope. That was all sample I have, and I don't plan on sharing more or else I starve."

"Isn't this close to Beef Stroganoff?"

Yuri gave a hesitant nod. "That's Russian dish. How would you-"

"I got to try many different cuisines on Earth. I bet I could make this even better."

Though it was Yuri's eyes that widened in interest, it was Nova that asked the next question. "And what about Dobos Torte?"

"That's a desert, isn't it?"

"My favorite." Nova's stare turned intensely competitive. "Think you can beat me making it?"

"You cook?" Renni asked.

"The question isn't whether I can cook but whether you can outcook me." Nova replied, twirling her fork into a piece of her omelet and popping it into her mouth with an intimidating stare. "How about a challenge sometime?"

Zack suddenly stood up, utterly enthused by the course of the conversation. "Looks like we've got some Alpha Female action on our hands, boys." He said, looking to all the men in the squad. "I volunteer me, the Staff and Deaks as judges."

Deaks set aside his utensils and slumped into his chair. "I'm not even that hungry honestly."

Duncan put down his last kabob with a sigh. "You can't just volunteer people, Zack. That's not how it works."

"I'm actually interested to see how that would turn out." Hector said. "Those three are on the polar ends of the personality spectrum so I'm curious what they'd say in a cook-off, assuming Ms. ONI that you can cook."

"Puede cocinar, Senorita ONI?" Rico asked.

With all the attention centered on her she gave a humble nod. "I can try, although I don't know if I can necessarily beat Nova."

The redheaded specialist diced through another piece of her omelet, dragging the knife through the meat with deliberate slowness as the cheese bled over the blade. "If you think humility will grant you mercy then you're sorely mistaken. Its time I gave you my special version of hazing."

Duncan stopped to look around. "Wait, I thought we did that in Heraklion."

"Not properly. We only wanted to surprise her with questions, right Ep-1?"

The Staff who he'd been listening to the entire exchange while peacefully sipping his coffee now paid them his full attention. "On a similar note." He set his sights on Renni. "Should we expect any more surprises like the one you gave us yesterday? Mind you it came in handy, so much so that I'm genuinely starting to believe you really are Ex-ONI. However, any more on this scale might be troublesome."

Renni gave a wry smile. "But then it wouldn't be a surprise, would it, sir?"

"That's the point." He said, straightening. "I need to know the full capabilities of my Helljumpers. Without glimpsing the nature of those impending surprises, I can't guess as to whether they'll be a boost to our squad's operational capacities or a hinderance. I want to know if there's anything else like that update you gave us that could potentially change the nature of an operation so drastically."

The air of the conversation had turned to quiet seriousness as Epsilon collectively focused on their new medic.

"That's about all the surprises I brought with me, sir, the only ones that will matter in a fight anyway."

"Positive?"

She rose from her chair to stand at full attention. "Sir, yessir."

After a second, the Staff nodded and gestured to her seat. "Then sit down, would you, before you cause everyone here to think we're interrogating you."

"Yeah, 'cause we did that already." Zack said, his initial grin turning to a pained glower as Nova gave him another clandestine slap to the back of the head.

Renni sat down with a renewed confidence. But as she did, the others noticed some of the personnel that were sitting around staring at her strange performance. One of them was a ruddy looking man with a 53rd Armored BDU that had been walking past. After talking to another man next to him, they both cruised over to Epsilon's tableside.

"Hey, I remember you guys." He smiled. "You're, ugh, Epsilon, right? Squad Epsilon from Bravo Company?"

"Who's asking?" Deaks glared, only for Zack's eyes to widen in recognition of the answer.

"Hey, you're that tank-guy." He looked to the others to see if they remembered. They returned the same confused expressions as the new arrival's comrade. "Don't you remember? He was with us on Miridem. He let me sit on top of his Scorpion's cannon during the drive to the De Gaulle. He told me to mind the boom, and I didn't."

The revelation slowly dawned on most of the squad, namely those that had been present during the battle for Miridem.

"I remember this guy." Hector said, smiling in recollection.

"Yeah." Rico added. "You were the driver, right? You're basically the reason we survived that first push. Was it...Mart?"

"Marty." He offered his hand. "Corporal Richard Marty from the 53rd."

Those that recalled the affair shook his hand like they would a fellow ODST. Marty slapped his counterpart on the shoulder. "This is my new turret gunner, Shugart. Me and him chauffeured your battalion commander around yesterday, had some fun along the way too."

Shugart nodded back, then after meeting Nova's scrutinizing gaze, blushed slightly and bowed out of the conversation's focus.

The two were given a seat at the squad's table. They became the new center of attention as the ODSTs and Armored Tank Crew caught up on what had happened in each other's lives since the fall of Miridem. The two Scorpion crewmembers talked about what life had become for them in being regarrisoned in Treviso. For the ODSTs' part, they talked about what it was like to return to their base, although they stretched it out to make it seem as if that's all they had done in the months since.

As they went on, it made Duncan realize how much time had actually passed. It suddenly struck him that more than half a year had gone by since Miridem, longer since he'd last spoken to Erica, and even longer since he'd seen her.

He wondered what she might've done after learning he was MIA. If there was one thing he knew about her it was that she was strong enough to put up with a lot, which was arguably what had helped their marriage work as well as it did. But he wondered if she missed him, because now with things quiet, he realized how much he was actually missing her. He'd never given much thought to the inward ache that he'd had to ignore throughout his deployment. However, missing his chance to speak with her after returning from the Trafalgar left that ache stirred up a good deal more than before.

Still, he had forced those feelings aside for a greater purpose.

Here he was helping humanity to retake one of its worlds from the Covenant. He'd heard about the situations of the other Task Forces and could tell they only needed one more push to win back Actium.

For the first time in his memory, he was doing what his father had done in fighting to take back Harvest, a victory for the UNSC. He was similarly doing what his role-model, Admiral Preston Cole had done at the Battle of Psi Serpentis, scoring another major victory against the enemy. They could do the same with Actium. That was the reason he'd chosen to join the ODSTs after all, to stop the Covenant. In a sense, he was accomplishing that very dream. Looking around the table, he knew they all were. They would show others that Fleet Admiral Hood was right when he claimed it was in the ability of every UNSC-affiliated individual to prove the Covenant were not unbeatable. There was Harvest, Arcadia and Psi Serpentis. Now they would fight to add Actium to humanity's list of triumphs, and in doing so would encourage others across the colonies to join them in fighting and ultimately winning this war.

He just hoped Erica would understand that and, when he was old enough, that Noah would as well.

The conversation ended when one of Bravo Company's ODSTs, Hotel-7, reached their table to inform them that the Colonel wanted everyone in Bravo outside the mall. They were to drive back to the HMPD HQ for a mission briefing. With tired groans and sighs that were quickly silenced by the Staff, Epsilon shoveled whatever food they had left either into their mouths or into trashcans. Zack decided on a third option by pouring the remains of his makeshift Moa Burger into his rucksack.

Then they grabbed their gear and joined other squads of Bravo leaving the food court in heading for the exit.

:********:

With a gentle bow of his reptilian head, Field Marshal Kozon Duracomee submitted to the presence of an even greater authority. Though he could see little more than the boots of the Sangheili whose projection stood upon the holo-pedestal, he wouldn't dare make eye contact given the nature of his petition. "Supreme Commander Niccoramee, please hear my request. It is of the gravest importance."

The image of the Supreme Commander considered quietly what he thought said question would be, then ushered him on. "I will listen."

Dressed in the maroon and blue-accented armor suited to his rank, Duracomee bowed his head further, causing his horned headpiece to tip forward. "We are in desperate need of orbital assistance against the humans. As I have stated in my earlier report, they have taken the second tier of this city. We require all the reinforcements you can muster to our aid." What he knew he hadn't mentioned in that previous report was that the humans had done so by somehow using their own communication's jammers against them. It was a failure in tactical judgement more than deserving of death. However, he hadn't spoken of it for the sake of his army rather than his own life. If Niccoramee did have him executed for his failure then it would have the adverse effect of making the already frayed allegiances of the remaining Unggoy, Kig-Yar, Yanme'e and Sangheili under his command dissipate entirely, leading to a repeat of the fratricide that had unfolded in the 2nd Tier.

Niccoramee wasted less than a breath in his reply. "No."

The answer didn't surprise Duracomee. It simply made him more despairing than he already was at having been given this task. "Why, Supreme Commander?"

"Because I have faith in your capabilities as a commander of my legions. I am certain that Maragek did not graduate any incapable officers from his War College. Which is why I know you are more than capable of utilizing the resources and numbers you have on hand to crush this human rabble."

Duracomee didn't even dare to dispute the decree. He'd learned that it was unwise to do so when their commanding officer was one like Niccoramee. "I...understand. But what of the Holy One, the Minister of Iconography?"

"What about him?"

"Commander, the Holy One is in danger here. The human's ships loom over us even now. Surely it would be safer for him if he were transported to your location. Then we could defend this city with greater assurity of-"

"No."

Duracomee felt despair settle even more powerfully upon his shoulders. He dared ask the futile question. "But why not?"

"The Minister has the very eyes of the Gods watching his every footstep and thus has their protection and favor. Surely the will of the Gods is far greater protection than any warship I could dispatch. Besides, my ships are too ensconced in their tasks here to offer any transport. I have faith that the Minister has the protection he needs." Niccoramee leaned forward, his face hardening. "Yet may it be so that the ire of the Gods will be against you should you fail to retake that city or to allow the Minister to complete the Ceremony of Sanctification. The next time we speak the ceremony should already be concluded along with the fate of the eastern capital. I pray the Gods favor you, because if not then there is no warship I can offer that would do greater justice than that dealt at their hand, by that of your foes or of your own sword. Is that understood, Field Marshall?"

Duracomee gave another dignified bow. "I will not fail you or our righteous Covenant, Commander."

"I know." That was all Niccoramee said before his image disappeared as he ended the conversation. The holo-pedestal before him dimmed to a faint blue light, leaving Field Marshall Duracomee with nothing save the howl of the early morning wind that carried the sounds of thousands of unified voices to his ear. He slowly arose and headed to the very end of the roof of one of the hundreds of skyscrapers that forested the 3rd Tier of the city. He stopped at the edge to look down upon the faithful.

Thousands of his warriors had gathered around holo-pedestals in the streets below. Unlike his own which was specialized for two-way communication, they could do nothing with theirs except look on with reverence at the projection of the Minister of Iconography.

At the moment, the Minister was conducting an active broadcast of the first ritual Evening Prayer of Sanctification over the 3rd Tier, the last region he needed to sanctify. Since Covenant forces had first occupied the city eight days ago, the prophet had been hard at work purifying this location. He dedicated three days to each tier where he would offer up three evening prayers per day.

The first, the Prayer of Atonement, was to petition the Gods for forgiveness of the land in harboring the humans, their enemies, as its denizens.

The second, the Prayer of Partitioning and Affliction, was to request that the Gods punish the humans apart from the land and eradicate them from it.

The third, the Prayer of Strengthening, was to ask the Gods to grant their servants the strength to annihilate the humans as the executioners of their righteous judgement.

During each prayer the icon representing the part of the prayer's trinity being focused on would be displayed. The base format of each icon was a 'Y' shaped symbol with three smaller circular symbols, one within each corner of the main icon. Inside each circle was an arrowhead-like shape with varying angles and ornate tertiary patterns surrounding them.

Presently, the image of the Minister of Iconography was raising his hands towards the heavens. Above his outstretched palms was the icon for 'Atonement', a Y shape possessing three circles with interior arrowheads all uniformly pointed downward.

Duracomee had worked with the Minister to organize his efforts in having each symbol carved into the sides of structures within the tier where the prayer was being made. His Elites acted as security squads for the Minister's Huragok servants that would use their fine cilia to 'etch' the image of the icon into the surrounding architecture. By extension, the icons became the outward manifestation of the corresponding petition. They would often glow both in the darkness of night and in the light of day due to the strange and incomprehensible nature of the creatures that put them there.

For the time being the Minister would have to shelter in place. He could just as simply transport him to the safety of the far east via a Phantom. But the human's domination over the skies made that all but impossible to do safely. With the way matters were progressing in the city, he couldn't risk losing the likes of a prophet as well. Maybe he could chance sending him off with Seraph escorts once his purpose was fulfilled after tomorrow's final prayer where the ceremony would celebrate the full sanctification of the city. However, he sensed there was more to Niccoramee's refusal to send a ship to oversee the protection of the Minister. There seemed to be something personal involved, and he certainly was not blind to his Supreme Commander's ambitions like he himself seemed to be. Perhaps the Minister represented some form of threat or obstacle to his aims, which would explain why he had the prophet sent to 'purify' this city rather than handle the most prestigious work that he was originally assigned to oversee in the east.

Duracomee was not one for arguing politics. He left that to the San'Shyuum and Sangheili councilors. He was a warrior and, suspicious or not, he would do what was ordered of him. So the Minister would remain. The only saving grace here was that no one except Duracomee and a few others actually knew where the Minister was. That, they could use to their advantage.

He trotted over to the other side of the rooftop. The westward skies were still pinkish purple compared to the increasing orange-yellow radiance rising in the east. He inwardly hoped it was a sign that the Gods' favor was rising over his own life, that they would grant him victory.

But even the wisest servant knows he cannot leave everything to his masters, because then they would be more deserving of his reward than himself. As he considered the preparations to be made to fortify their positions against the attack he knew was coming, he hoped his plan would decimate the humans and leave them both decentralized and demoralized enough for a successful counterattack. And if that wasn't possible then he was determined to have each and every warrior fight to the death. He swore the humans would not retake this city without having to destroy it altogether.

Then his gaze was drawn beyond the city towards the sea that lay on the other side of the island archipelago. He knew exactly what was there and wondered whether the Silent Shadows' operation would prove successful in executing the most vital part of his final strategy.

Prophetam - Prophet


	53. Battle of Actium - Chapter 15 (Coopernate)

Chapter 15 – Coopernate

May 9th, 2545 (07:30 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

HMPD Headquarters

:********:

The HMPD HQ's conference hall hadn't changed whatsoever in the day since Duncan had last been here. So why did it feel like it had changed so much? That was something he was trying to figure out as he sat with Squad Epsilon in the second row of seats among the entirety of Bravo Company.

Bravo was numbering at 180 strong, 70 down from its previous 250 due to the last day's tumultuous landing and subsequent fighting that left some 27 WIAs, 31 KIAs and 12 MIAs. From what he'd heard, out of the 7th's companies, Delta had received the highest casualties since they led the initial charge into Rhodes. However, even that paled in comparison to the near annihilation of the 22nd's own Delta Company.

They couldn't simply let the Covenant kill each other by themselves since there was always a chance for Elite intervention to calm the hostilities, so they had to push in and take advantage of the wide-spread chaos as soon as was tactically feasible. But Duncan wondered how many more lives would have been saved if they really did let the aliens have at each other.

He also wondered what would have happened differently if the Spartans had been there then like they were here now.

Four of the armored supersoliders stood at silent, ramrod attention. They were the focus of every ODST in the room, many of whom were whispering amongst themselves about different things all pertaining to them. For better or worse, their presence here was a reminder of just how unusual things were getting in High Mediolanum.

Colonel Garrison stood in front of them on the stage as he waited for the last arriving trooper to close the door behind him. Then the lights dimmed except for on the stage.

"Boys and girls of Bravo Company, welcome to your next day in the inferno. It's been a rough first day but we've managed to push back our enemy. Now, there is a very different theater of operations that we must attend to in order to strike the Covenant where it will hurt them most. And in case you were wondering..."

He turned and held out a hand towards the Spartans. "This is Blue Team. They're the ones who discovered the object of today's briefing. You'll get a chance to familiarize yourselves with them since you'll be working under them for this operation."

The Colonel's last sentence sent a shock to the collective system of every ODST sitting before him, causing any lingering whispers to instantly evaporate. The Spartans kept at their silent vigil over the room, their golden visors and intimidating armor showing no signs of anything catching them off guard.

Duncan glanced around to check the other's reactions. Save for Mito and Renni who still looked taken aback, the rest of the squad might as well have been wearing polarized visors. Their faces betrayed no indication of anything except a cold, long stare centered on the Spartans.

He shifted his attention back to the stage. Sure enough, he recognized them as the exact same ones that saved them and Squad Razor at the De Gaulle Starport's Terminal C on Miridem. Though he could recall the helmet variations worn by the first four Spartans he had ever seen, the numbers on their left breastplates identified them best: '104', '059', '087' and '117'. The last number belonged to the Spartan whose helmet had a squarish, angular frame with an inverted, trapezoidal visor. If his memory served him correctly, that one was called the Master Chief. He was pretty sure 104 was a guy and 059 and 087 were women judging by their subtly smaller physiques compared to the first two. Smaller, sure, but it wasn't like he was about to challenge any of them to an arm-wrestling match. He wasn't ready for a prosthetic limb just yet.

After a palpable silence, Garrison continued. "Now we can move on to the matter at hand. The Master Chief will be taking over from this point onward." He stepped aside to let 117 take his place on the stage.

The moment his last clanging footfall resounded across the hall, the projection devices activated and emitted what Duncan could only describe as a 3-dimensional portrayal of a desert in the middle of the stage. He gradually pieced together that the denuded landscape had been made so by water rather than wind, the obvious signs being the waving patterns only possible of deep-sea currents. The support struts of several oil rigs at the far corners of the image were also a dead giveaway.

The Chief began. "At 1120 Hours yesterday, my team was sent to investigate the seafloor 4 kilometers west of Icaria Island under the suspicion of a possible Covenant broadcasting source being located there. We utilized telemetry probes to conduct an ultrasound imaging signal analysis of the underwater topography over 2 square kilometers. What you're about to see are the final results of the tertiary scans."

Four small rods appeared on the center of the landscape which proceeded to emit spheres of red light that expanded outward before overlapping. What remained in between them was a red blob that the software resolved into a final, multi-contoured visage.

The sight of it brought a resurgence of confused looks and whispers among the Bravo Company troopers.

"What...is that?" Nova asked. She looked between Duncan and the Staff, the latter of which shook his head, his brow furrowing.

To Duncan, his best guess was that it was some sort of alien parliamentary building sitting on the bottom of the Koronea Sea. He began logically backtracking along a list of Covenant base structures he'd seen on FLEETCOM's declassified data drops and concluded it was some sort of citadel.

The structure was comprised of three bulbous, ovular substructures connected via docking tubes. The first two metal blimp-like constructions were spread out akin to a north and south wing and were slightly lower than the third wing which was the largest and faced eastward. The entire complex, adorned with angular arrays like moss covered crustaceans, was setup over a web of support struts and interlocking gantries on the seafloor.

"This is a Covenant Command Center." The Master Chief said, confirming Duncan's suspicions. "We believe they are using it to organize their groundside efforts from a safe distance. Its elimination will essentially disable the coordination of forces defending the last tier of the city. However, there is another important detail linked to this location and its vital nature goes without saying."

Another projector emitted the visual form of a figure Epsilon knew well. It was the Minister of Iconography. The prophet had its hands raised in a prayer but was paused in a freeze-frame.

"We believe this prophet that goes by the title 'Minister of Iconography' is presently housed in this location since this is the source of his broadcasting signal sent to holo-pedestals across High Mediolanum. Logically, this is the safest and most remote site for a high value individual to be located. It is my team's objective, and now yours as of today, to capture him."

The holograph changed to show six yellow Albatross dropships hovering just over the surface of the water above the command center. As he was speaking, scores of yellow dots dropped from the aircrafts into the water and began heading down towards the target. "The current plan is for us to mount an underwater insertion via Albatrosses that will transport the entire company. You will be using SCUBA equipment specialized for your BDUs, specifically the PSMA-92 Harnesses that are being provided for this mission."

Next to appear were two new images. One of them Duncan identified as a projected model of the Pressurized Submersible Maneuverability Apparatus or PSMA-92. The model came with a CBRN module meant for deployment in chemical, biological and radiological hazardous zones. It could be attached to the mouth area of the trooper's helmets as a single-piece rebreather that could extend the user's limited oxygen supply. There were also several other key features in the form of the back-mounted harness, attachable oxygen reserve tanks, fins with dismountable ankle-bracers as well as a depth-gauge and dive computer mounted to the right arm bracer.

The second object was far larger than the first at being nearly the height of five people. Its upper half was composed of a seating area with exterior handles. The pair-mounted nuclear fusion engines at its base were each the size of a Mongoose with recursive thrusters established at different points along the upper body. This one Duncan recognized as a CF89 Booster Frame.

"At Stage-1 of the operation, designated Carrier teams carrying these CF89 Booster Frames will be escorted down the 500-meter distance needed to reach the command center. They will then use the device's anchorage function to connect the frames to specially selected grapple points along the hull. Demolition Teams will also plant C-12 shaped charges that have been specially vetted and allowed by higher-ups for this mission. Their target will be the primary and secondary support struts keeping it anchored to the seafloor."

The holograph showed a shower of yellow dots dispersing around the structure then connecting dozens of the rectangular representations for booster frames onto varying points along its surface. At the same time, others moved to plant smaller, circular representations of C-12 along the supports.

"At Stage-2, Extraction teams will use breaching charges to break through entrances on the undersides of command center. Their objective will be to locate and capture the prophet as our HVI. Secondary objectives will be to eliminate any and all hostile contacts and the capture of other possible leadership-related entities within the center."

On the imaging, dozens of the dots arced down and into the undersides of the command center's three substructures before pouring inside, subsequently turning the entire construction the same color.

"Once both of those aims have been achieved, we'll move on to Stage-3. Our Carrier teams will activate their booster frames anchored along the hull simultaneously with the Demolition teams detonating the C-12 charges placed on the support struts. The explosions will tear the structure from the seafloor while also being strategically placed so as to give the entire command center an upward push. The boosters can then take advantage of that momentum to carry the center itself to the surface. At 200 meters, Corps of Engineers Marines from the 27th's 8th Battalion will deploy magnetic harpoon reels from the two nearest oil rigs, Odyssey and Theseus that should connect to the center's hull and pull it to the surface. From there, the Extraction teams can remove the HVI for withdrawal into UNSC custody."

Finally, the holograph showed the command center's struts detonating while the booster frames carried it up to a certain point where the two nearest rigs could shoot out long lines that connected to its frame. Then it was reeled in like three conjoined jellyfish caught by a pair of fishermen.

The Master Chief allowed the image to stay for a few more seconds to let the troopers take everything in. Then he waved his gauntleted hand and it dissipated. The lights winked on across the hall, revealing the deeply focused faces of the rows of ODSTs sitting beyond the stage.

"We will leave the HMPD HQ at 1120 Hours. The HVI extraction operation will begin at approximately 1200. We have 4 hours to make the necessary preparations. As for weapons, there won't be a need for any heavy-duty ordinance except breaching charges for the Extraction teams and shape charges for the Demolition teams. Short to mid-range weapons take priority. Are there any questions?"

There was silence as the troopers looked among themselves to see if anyone was brave enough to ask. Then Hotel-7 held up his hand in the front row where he sat with the rest of his squad. The Chief nodded for him to speak. As he stood, Duncan noticed his thin eyebrows creased in frustration, his square jaw locked in a devious smile.

"Yeah, I've got a question. This one's for the Colonel though, not you."

Garrison gazed upon the young private with suspicion as the man glanced between both authority figures on the stage.

"Excuse me, sir, why is it a bunch of toy soldiers are leading us on this op and not you? We don't need a bunch of robots telling us what to do in a-"

Hotel-7 never got to finish as his squad leader, Hotel-1, violently grabbed him by the collar of his BDU and yanked him down into his seat. A commotion arose among the company from snide smiles and agreeing laughs to confused glances and worried looks.

Neither the Chief nor the rest of Blue Team showed any hint of a reaction.

Colonel Garrison suddenly stepped forward. He didn't have to say a word. The sharpness of his gaze alone cut the commotion at its knees and returned the hall to a deft silence. "Are there any real questions?"

At first it seemed no one was willing to ask any further. Then Rico held up a hand. "I have one."

The Chief nodded to him as he stood.

"I get using certified C-12 for this op, but how do those charges alone have the power to propel the structure off the ground? Sure, the boosters are powerful but how can they lift that entire thing 300 meters once its initial blast inertia subsides?"

"We have a solution for that as well, although I wanted to explain it in better detail in the later run-throughs." The Spartan used his hand to summon another projection of the command center. Then the image focused in on a wide-shot of the ground beneath it, capturing in greater detail the field of oceanic thermal vents jutting out of the seafloor like active volcanoes.

"These hydrothermal vents lying just beneath the center release large quantities of hydrogen sulfide and will be within proximity of the blast radius when the struts are destroyed. The moment the blast from the C-12 reaches these hydrogen sulfide mists it will cause a catalytic secondary explosion that we've estimated to be strong enough to propel the center up approximately 170 meters to the surface, even without the frames. The structure will be able to survive this since it's comprised of the same nanolaminate plating as their ships which are sturdy against heavy explosive ordinance. That said, every trooper must be on the topside of the structure prior to the detonation so that they will be shielded."

This time the image captured more of the devastating secondary explosion to scale. A few troopers whistled in astonishment. Rico nodded with genuine admiration and sat back down.

"Anything else?" The Chief asked.

The Staff held up a hand. "Will the Extraction Teams be led by you and your Spartans, sir?"

"That's correct."

"...Understood."

The room returned to silence once more. Seeing that no one else had any questions, the Chief turned to Garrison, prompting the Colonel to step up. "Bravo Company, you're dismissed. Head down to the armory to get your gear."

:********:

Garrison watched his Helljumpers flow through the seats and out of the hall's doors as he came to a stop next to the Chief. "...Take a good look at their faces."

The Chief turned to him. "Sir?"

"Their faces." Garrison said, focused on the crowds. "I want you to remember them. They're not numbers on potential casualty statistics, they're people, my people, and I'm lending them to you, not giving them over."

There was no reply but he didn't need him to give one. "Bring them back, Chief, as many of them as you can."

He finally rounded on the Spartan. Though he couldn't see anything but his own face reflected in the golden visor, he could understand the respectful nod that was returned. "I'll do what I can, sir."

:********:

The HMPD HQ's armory was a lot like a high school locker room. The various weapon's arsenals were contained inside of lockers with multiple inner-racks that allowed anyone given the proper clearance to take their pick of the litter. Only, there were no HMPD officers to help the ODSTs find what they needed, so they were forced to gradually figure out that the arsenals were separated by weapon classification.

Duncan learned that the biggest lockers at the left end of the rectangular room tended to hold heavier ordinance like SPNKRs, grenade launchers and sniper rifles. The medium sized ones near the middle of the room held carbines, rifles and shotguns. The smallest contained SMGs, handguns and a vast array of grenades. Near the middle of each crisscrossing hedge of lockers were metal workbenches for weapon disassembly and examination as well as wall-mounted frames displaying a number of customizable scopes.

The whole of Bravo Company was currently mounting an equipment overhaul in preparation for the operation. Weapons like SRS-99s and M319 Grenade Launchers were being put away on one side of the armory in exchange for MA5B Assault rifles and XBR 55 Battle rifles. It was something Deaks and Rico weren't so fond of since they were required to give up their most cherished pieces. But some of the other ODSTs weren't giving up their original weapons at all.

Many of the squads were assembled at the dozen tactical planners around the room that actively portrayed run-throughs of the operation while simultaneously displaying the names of squads designated under categories: 1) Extraction Teams 2) Demolition Teams 3) Carrier Teams. Many of them were debating whether a weapon exchange was a good idea, and from what Duncan could occasionally overhear as he restocked his SMG ammo, they weren't pretty debates. The name 'Spartan' came up a lot as either part of an apologetic explanation or as the header of a heated argument.

Epsilon was on the tepid end of that range of activities. They hung around the AR and carbine lockers close to the middle of the armory. While getting geared up, they sat on benches to observe their personal tactical planner. By extension, they become much like the on-duty officers who probably would've been sitting around these same devices as a superior ran through the holographic details of some neighborhood operation.

Duncan's attention was fully drawn to the listing on the side of the mission run-through which told them what their place would be. They would be working as one of two Extraction Teams, both targeting one of the entrances of the eastern facing part of the command center under the command of one Master Chief Petty Officer John-117.

"Why not Johnson?"

Duncan looked over at Zack who was sitting on the other end of his bench, cupping his face in his hands and leaning towards the display. "What?

"Why not Johnson? Seriously, what kind of last name is John? Johnson makes more sense as a surname, right?"

"I think that's his first name." Nova said without having to look up from the workbench she was using to reassemble her newest BR. "John doesn't make sense as a surname so it must be his first."

"And how'd you figure that?"

"It's called logical deduction my dear Watson."

"Was that supposed to be an Arthur Conan Doyle reference?"

Nova stopped; her interest peeked even though she retained her attention on screwing the barrel into place. "You read Sherlock Holmes? No, wait, you read?"

"I had to." Zack sighed explosively. "They made us read it for pre-colonial literature in high-school, which I still flunked out of by the way so don't try to drop any more references like that on me. It'll just go right over my head."

"Like most things." Rico said, patting him on the back as he and Deaks walked past, returning from having to give up their heavy weapons. They both stopped in front of the planner to get a good view of the team listings. Their faces screwed up slightly when they saw the squad's newest posting.

"We couldn't just get the easy job this time, could we?" Deaks exhaled. He caught sight of the Staff on a perpendicular bench on the other side of the projection, sizing up his personal shotgun. "I thought they said no high-octane stuff on this op, sir?"

"Mid-range." The Staff replied as he used a rag to clean the inside of the gun's receiver. "And short-range. This..." He tossed the finished rag aside to pump a round into the chamber with a satisfying click-click. "...Is short-range."

"Right." Rico said. "Hey, ugh, so how do you feel about us getting led by this John-guy?"

"The Master Chief."

"Sir?"

"His name to you and me is Master Chief. You all call me Staff Sergeant, not David. It's the same principle of authority and corresponding respect."

"Y-, yessir. But, what do you think?"

The Staff lay his shotgun across his lap and inspected it much like he would any of his ODSTs in a parade setting. "The Master Chief is a fine-tuned weapon as much as he is a human being, if not slightly more so the former. Given what we saw from him and the others on Miridem, it's no small wonder why he's been given full operational authority here. And frankly, provided the details of this mission, him leading the charge is probably our best bet of coming out of this on top." He looked up at them, then past them towards the squads with heated debates. "However, not everyone thinks the same way."

"I don't think they have to Staff." A man's voice said. "After all, who really wants to be under the command of an overblown toy soldier wearing black spandex under all that armor."

Glancing around, the squad traced the origin of the voice to an ODST peering over the other side of the locker that Hector was leaning against. The latter turned about and smiled once he saw him. "Reece? What're you doing here man?"

"I came to see what you guys are thinking." Private Reece grinned back as he rounded the row of lockers to enter into the squad's space, stopping at the threshold with his square jaw set in a knowing smile and his arms crossed. "So, is that the verdict then? Epsilon's okay with this, sir?"

The Staff answered his question with another question. "Hotel-7, why are you here and not with your squad?"

"Because they're all having at it with the fact both Hotel and Epsilon have to work under Johnny-come-lately over there." He gestured towards the middle of the armory's locker-maze where the Spartans were. "Even Hotel-1 doesn't know what to think of it. But you, Staff Sergeant, seem to be sold on it being the best way to win."

"And what do you think is the best way to go about this, private?"

Reece checked around to make sure the rest of the squad was looking his way. Scratching a hand through his low-cut blonde hair, he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know sir. I was hoping you did. My best guess was it'd be better to have the entire company working under a CO they already knew and trusted, not four swabby special forces who were so special they didn't even bother showing up to the offensive yesterday."

"But they couldn't, because they were scouting out this mission." Renni pointed out from a seat opposite him. "Think about it. While we were fighting, they were busy locating the enemy's leadership to take them out at the head. If that's what you call swabby special forces then I personally can't imagine what the real deals are like."

Reece's face hardened. "I think they could have sent a team of ODSTs to get that job done just fine, if not better. They probably would've found and popped open that center at the same time rather than just telling everyone else where to find it."

"Hey, trooper, look here." The Staff said, catching his attention. "Do you know anyone in this room that would want to go half a kilometer down to the seafloor and scan through that darkness just to find out where the enemy is? I'm a Helljumper, private, and even I don't want to go down there. But I'm going anyway because your squad and mine are being asked to help capture a prophet, something a team of Helljumpers, as capable as we are, couldn't try doing alone. All that means is that these Spartans are good enough to warrant only having a company of ODSTs accompanying them rather than an entire battalion."

"You think they're as good as a battalion of us, sir?" Reece dared. "Like the 7th?"

The Staff leaned back to rest his head against the locker behind him in thought. "I've...seen a thing or two, enough to let me know this one basic fact. ODSTs are natural born killers and Spartans are something akin to an extinction-level event on two legs, but a combination of the two working together is a hell of a force to be reckoned with...more than enough, I'd say, to take down a prophet."

Private Reece must have failed to find a good rebuttal after that because his jaw moved but he couldn't bring out an answer.

Throughout the course of the whole conversation, Duncan recalled seeing the overwhelmingly one-sided massacre that happened at the De Gaulle Starport after the arrival of these same Spartans. It made the Staff's description of them seem not-so-exaggerated. Then memories began popping up from his time at Camp Currahee, to the Beta Company candidates that he guessed had probably already graduated.

Before he could be drawn into that section of his mind and Reece could bring the answer it had taken him several seconds to find, the doors on the far-end of the armory opened. The sound of squeaking wheels filled the room as a number of mobile objects were hauled inside. A commotion started shortly after where ODSTs began walking and jogging down the locker aisles to the main entrance.

"Sounds like the equipment's here." The Staff said, getting on his feet. "Let's get to it."

The squad followed his lead in departing from their space, leaving a flustered Reece to come after them.

Everyone was gathering at the front around two-dozen gunracks on wheels that bore PSMA-92 harnesses. The devices were hung up in a similar manner to toys in a toy store.

"Line up and get'em while they're hot, people, come on." Gunnery Sergeant Singh said as he and his squad directed the troopers into lines for each mobile gunrack. One at a time they were handed a harness then moved along for the next person to get theirs.

The Pressurized Submersible Maneuverability Apparatus looked much like the Series 8 SOLA that Duncan had used during their last mission on Miridem. It had the same rectangular base-shape and two exterior columns of increasingly segmented components. However, it notably differed with the two sockets near the bottom where a pair of oxygen reserve tanks were inserted. Aside from additional tubing, there were also the three pairs of acorn-shaped thrusters that were attached to rotational gimbals along different sides of the equipment. The topmost pair would be right at shoulder-height just like the original Series 8. The next pair were near the torso area and the third at the waist. The thrusters were connected to a movement-sensitive system that detected the user's motions through the special gloves and retractable fins placed over the boots. That way they would assist the wearer in going in any direction with just a flick of the wrist or a flutter of the feet.

Attached propellers of aluminum metal were placed over each thruster's exhaust port, the material being chosen for its high melting point so that it would be less probable to take exhaust damage while providing added mobility. It was best to think of a person wearing the full equipment as becoming their own personal, underwater Falcon.

Reaching near the front of his line, Duncan held out a hand for Gunnery Sergeant Singh to personally hand him his harness. He quickly went over to half of the squad off to the side that were already putting theirs on.

"Brought to you by Lethbridge Industrial." Hector said in a mocking spokesperson's voice.

"It's nice, just wish it came with a good pair of trunks." Mito griped.

"Or a two piece." Nova added, her subtlety causing the young private to become a little red in the face.

Deaks slapped him on the back. "Don't think about it, that's not something you want to see, trust me."

"Hey Corporal?"

Deaks turned to Nova in time to see her pop a pin on a frag grenade and toss it right into his open hands. He didn't panic but simply stood in place, eyeing her with tired derision as several seconds passed, unlike Mito who was already scrambling away. Hector caught his mouth before he could shout a warning and held him by the shoulder. "Relax, rookie, it's empty."

Nova looked decently impressed. "So, you figured it out this time, did you?"

Deaks tossed it back to her. "You removed the primer just like you did the first time."

"But you didn't know that the first time, did you?" She teasingly winked at him.

"Yeah, well, I learned real quick after that."

"Oh relax." She nodded over at Mito. "It's just to prank the new guy."

Deaks didn't look amused. Neither was Duncan who had almost sprinted for a nearby locker when he stopped at noticing that the sniper didn't move an inch. It wasn't like Nova to just pull a stunt like that, unless she had started picking up on Zack's tendencies. Despite the reason she had given about wanting to frighten Mito, something was telling him that the actual reason revolved more around Deaks. The corporal had been slightly off his game since their last mission, most noticeably that he hadn't even bothered to eat any of his breakfast at the food court. If Duncan didn't know any better, it was almost as if she was testing him. Whether he had passed or failed that test exactly, he couldn't really tell.

The Staff came over shortly afterwards then the rest of the squad after a minute. Once they had all gathered and mounted their equipment, they headed over to the section of the armory with more ARs since not everyone was keen on some of their weapon choices.

As they came down a line of rifle lockers, they spotted Private Reece and a few others from his squad already dressed in their PSMA-92s. The trio appeared to have been talking when they stopped to face the Master Chief whose visage towered over them. Though his presence was intimidating even at this distance the three Helljumpers seemed more aggravated than concerned. The Spartan told them something the others couldn't hear.

Reece, armed with an M319 Grenade Launcher across his chest, suddenly stepped out to stand defensively between his squadmates and the Chief. He pointed a finger at his visor and spoke loud enough for everyone nearby to hear him. "Just listen already tin-man, if there's anybody in there anyway. There's no legitimate reason why I shouldn't be allowed to take my piece with me. I'm good with this like how people say you're so good with that suit of yours. So why don't you just leave us normal human beings alone, huh?"

Nova took a step forward, ready to cut the private down to size but the Staff caught her by the shoulder and held her back. Other squads started to appear along the fringes of the argument, watching.

"That weapon classification isn't feasible for this operation, trooper." The Chief said, regardless of the growing numbers listening in on their conversation. "Find yourself an SMG or a rifle like your squadmates before this mission starts. Is that understood?"

Reece cocked his head to one side. "And what if I said no... sir...or just no?"

Even as the young Helljumper's face and tone became increasingly hostile, the Chief's voice stayed at a calm note. "If you cannot handle those basic requirements, private, then I will have no choice but to have you pulled off this mission."

"Ah, I see. You're trying to get anyone that already figured you out from being in the picture when you start breaking Helljumpers' necks again. That's the plan, right?"

The Chief stared at Reece. The measurable silence made the private visibly uneasy and his freehand reached for the M6 holstered on his thigh.

"What's he talking about?" Duncan asked to anyone that could answer. No one did.

The growing gathering of about 20 troopers had become 35 in the time it took Reece to strain out his next words. "Yeah, you're quiet now because I hit the nail on the head, am I right?" He looked incitingly between his squadmates then back to the Chief. "What, you think everybody here doesn't know the story, how one of you guys almost offed twelve troopers in a ship gymnasium a few years back? I heard they all got beaten so bad that a few of them died after their broken bones started jutting through their skin. Can you imagine that?" He looked to everyone that had gathered. "You guys really okay with this? Because now the good Colonel has us taking orders from Navy swabbies that killed just as many of us as the Covenant. Are you guys really comfortable with that?"

By then well over a quarter of Bravo was encircling them, watching with rapt attention. No one moved to say anything, not even the Chief who continued to stare at him.

It was the Staff who ultimately broke first as he marched into the open with such a chilling glare that it cooled the private's rising bravado the moment he saw him. The Staff looked ready to come over and chew him out but the Chief's voice stopped him. "No need, Staff Sergeant."

The Spartan took a single step towards Reece, nearly covering all the distance between them. Reece in turn flinched and tumbled back onto the floor, dropping his pistol.

Then he looked up to see the golden visor of the green-armored titan standing over him, but realized that the Spartan held the M6 he had just dropped in his hand. He had so quickly caught it out of the air that barely anyone had the chance to even notice.

Slowly, he held out the pistol to him handle-first. "It's weapons like these that you'll need for this mission." He pointed to the M319. "A grenade launcher will potentially explode near a less enforced section and cause a hull breach. The EMP that it releases within its blast-radius also poses a problem of knocking out electronic components that we may need down there. You'll be risking the lives of both your squadmates and mine if you bring it."

Again, he offered him the pistol as he held out the other hand for the launcher.

Reece glanced between the larger man's armored palms and his golden visor to see nothing save his own bloodless face staring back at him. His jaw clenched as he considered his advice. He hesitantly raised his launcher and rested it in the Chief's open hand. He shot one last look at his impenetrable visor then took his pistol back.

The Chief offered him another hand and pulled him up to his feet with ease.

The Spartan gave him a nod then went on his way. The crowds quickly parted to let him pass. They took a final look at the embarrassed private then dispersed to rejoin their squads, whispering and laughing to themselves about the near altercation.

Reece had barely exhaled as The Staff walked past, at first with the impression of moving elsewhere then suddenly grabbing the private by the collar of his BDU and forcing him back against a locker with a loud CLANG. The other two members of Hotel gave each other wary looks. He gestured for them to get moving and watched them disappear around the corner before rounding on the lone trooper. "You better thank your personal god that you're not a bloody smear under that man's boots right now, Helljumper, but if you try anything like that again I will see to it that you are swiftly made into a smear under my own. Is that understood?"

Reece grimaced and tried to get back up but the Staff simply pulled him upwards then slammed him back against the locker with even greater force, knocking the wind out of him and capturing a few concerned glances from other troopers. "I said, is that understood, Private Reece?"

The last time had done the trick and whatever rebellion was left in the private was battered out. He nodded.

"You have a mouth, trooper. Use it."

"...Y-, yes, yessir."

The Staff pulled him back onto his feet and let him go. With his head hung low to avoid meeting anyone's eye, Reece passed through Epsilon who had watched everything, the newer members with shock and the older ones with a quiet respect.

"You really plan on turning him into a smear, sir?" Hector asked.

The Staff warily shook his head. "A Hunter will do that just fine if he keeps acting out that way. I'm just trying to help him."

"By breaking his vertebrae, sir?" Renni asked, still a bit caught off guard.

"A small price to pay for keeping the rest of him alive, especially around the Spartans." Saying their names brought a thought to the Staff's mind as he turned to where the supersoldiers in question were gathered. "Nova, take everyone and get settled back at our space for an equipment check. I'll be right back."

:********:

In all the years he'd known him, and it was generally most of his conscious life, Fred had always found John to be the hardest among the Spartans of his generation to read. Though he had his moments here and there which were discernable, the Chief was for the most part stoic in everything he did. He figured his team-leader and friend was at least partly that way because of the life-lessons they learned during their CQC training with Mendez and the other instructors. He had always taught them never to dish out more than they could personally take, because then it would become a weakness they could be blindsided by. Under those standards John was rock-solid. He could take a lot because he gave a lot, but as always, it made him hard to read.

He was matched on the other hand by Kurt's ability to read anyone, no matter whether they were his fellow Spartans, trainers or regular soldiers. The socialite Spartan was able to talk with everyone at will, and it had made him one of the few able to read John's strongest poker face. But Kurt wasn't here, and neither was Sam or Sheila or all of Red Team for that matter. Fred tried not to think about who all they'd lost since this war started. It was a defensive mechanism that he consciously used against the risk of going to a part of himself that he wasn't familiar with, and unlike most combat situations he came across, didn't know how to handle. Nevertheless, he couldn't help thinking that maybe if Kurt were still alive and still part of Blue Team, he would've been able to tell him what the Chief was thinking right now.

The rest of the team were outfitting themselves with the PSMA-92 harnesses specially fitted for their own MJOLNR as John returned from the spat a short distance away. Fred was able to overhear all of it. "Twelve ODSTs, that's the story now?"

John sat down next to Kelly on one of the their two benches without offering much of a comment. He simply said "Everyone's a little jumpy." and began working with his harness.

"So how does that factor in to everything else? I'm trying to figure out why he felt the need to bring up a story not even knowing he was talking to the main character."

"Makes you wonder about that phrase 'whatever you don't now can't kill you'." Kelly said. "I bet the person who said it first ended up being an example of why he was wrong. In your case Chief, permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"If you ask me, I recommend pulling that trooper from the mission. He doesn't seem so fond of us, and I'm sure he's not the only one. You won't want someone like that watching your back in a Covenant Command Center 500 meters below sea-level."

"Noted."

"It's noted but you won't do it, will you?"

"That solution won't solve the core problem here. He may just be the only one willing to be honest about how he feels towards us. I personally don't believe that they'll risk trying to get revenge under those same circumstances you just mentioned. Down there, no matter what anyone thinks of the other, the Covenant are enough of a threat to keep the focus on them."

Linda who was quietly brooding to herself over having to replace her sniper with a Designated Marksmen's Rifle ran a hand through her blood-red hair. "Why is it no one ever believes that it was an accident?"

"Because people remember the stories they want to remember, mam, even if it's not the truth."

The answer hadn't come from any of the Spartans, Fred realized, but from the red-accented ODST that came walking up towards their space. Almost every other shock trooper gave them a wide berth so it was a genuine surprise to him that any were willing to approach them, especially alone.

The Helljumper saluted the Chief. "I was surprised that you recognized me back there, sir."

"I did." John said. "You're Saff Sergeant Atell, correct? I remember fighting with you and Squad Razor on Miridem. Good to see you and your platoon made it out of there in one piece."

"...Not all the pieces sir. Just most of them." The Staff paused as he quietly contemplated something. "I...came to apologize for Private Reece's actions back there. He spoke out of turn and most importantly embarrassed both himself and Bravo Company's pride as Helljumpers. I figured he wouldn't own up to his actions in front of you so I decided to do it for him."

That was yet another surprise that Fred was not expecting.

"I understand." John said, always one for few words. And again, he did something Fred wasn't expecting. "Can you answer me something, Staff Sergeant?"

"What is it, sir?"

"You said that people will believe whatever they want to, but what do you think about that story?"

"About a Spartan killing twelve ODSTs in a gym?"

The Chief nodded.

"It's...believable from a strength perspective. However, it's not very believable from a tactical perspective. ODSTs and Spartans are on the same side of this war. It wouldn't make much sense that we would just suddenly start killing each other, unless there was something else involved."

"And what makes you think that there is?"

"Because, sir, if there's one thing we Shock Troopers are, its proud. With all due respect, we took pride in being branded humanity's best soldiers, at least until we ran into people such as yourselves. From a Helljumper perspective on said story, its believable that ODSTs would have wanted to fight one of you." The Staff relaxed slightly as he looked at John. "This isn't my first time hearing the story, Chief, but it is my first time hearing that it was a Spartan and not a kid that fought those troopers...four, not twelve like Reece and some of the others seem to think."

Fred watched the Chief wordlessly consider what was being unveiled just as he was. However, Fred felt the need to push the question. "So, it's because we stepped on their pride as being the best that many ODSTs dislike us?"

"That's one possible explanation, sir."

"One that makes the most sense." Kelly noted. "However, why would they be so proud as to attack a kid. It makes more sense if it's a Spartan, doesn't it?" She leaned forward. "So which do you think it was, Staff Sergeant? A kid or a Spartan?"

Fred tensed, albeit imperceptibly at the question Kelly was willing to ask. She was always the fastest of the Spartans and it didn't only apply to physicality. She was fast to the point as well. That said, she was also on the verge of revealing something he knew she shouldn't.

He noticed Linda had stopped cleaning her DMR as well to observe the Staff.

But the ODST, helmetless as he was, seemed to know the answer and was holding it back behind some hardened expression of knowing far more than he wanted to.

"Both."

"Both?"

The Staff met Kelly's gaze. "Two seemingly different stories can be the same one just told from two different perspectives." He saluted Blue Team's leader. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I have to get back to prepping my team for today's mission."

"Do what you have to Staff Sergeant. Remember to be ready for 1120 Hours."

"Will do." A final expression crossed the man's face, one Fred didn't quite understand. Then he turned smartly and left.

"I might have sharp eyes but he's one with a sharp mind." Linda remarked in her always tranquil and even tone. "I see why you picked him and his squad, Chief. If they're anything like him they'll be able to think on their feet down there, and maybe even keep up with you."

"He might be too sharp." Fred said. "Kelly, you were risking a lot just now. You sure that was wise to leave an idea like that floating around in his head?"

"I think it's fine." Kelly answered. "Then again, that's because I think it doesn't really matter to begin with. While I'm no psychologist, I wanted to know if he was anything like our Private Reece or if he was willing to have a more open mind. That's pretty important since they'll both be working under the Chief. So, what do you think, Blue-1?"

"I selected those two squads beforehand." He replied. "I was personally able to witness Epsilon fight at the De Gaulle Starport. They were able to hold off waves of Covenant in that terminal long enough for us to reinforce them. That warranted a good deal of attention. The same goes for both Epsilon and Hotel who managed to hold their jammers under similar conditions until backup arrived. I figured they were the best options for my extraction teams."

"And we get everyone else." Kelly sighed. "Great, so you hogged the best for yourself as always then?"

"We'll find out how good they are in the water once we get down there. Until then, let's make sure we're also equipped enough to be at our best. Finish gearing up Spartans, let's go."

Blue Team recontinued their efforts to dawn their specialized PSMA-92 units. As always, Fred kept an eye on John. As always, he couldn't gauge him. It was hard enough without the helmet that he wore almost perpetually, yet alone with it on.

While he couldn't read the Chief, he had read the face of that Staff Sergeant, specifically his last expression before he left. It was stuck freshly to the front of his mind. Most UNSC personnel only looked at them with exacerbated wonder or distant standoffishness and even fear. But there was something to the Staff's facial cues that didn't sit right with him, as if he understood them in a way that made his answer to Kelly's question much more conspicuous than it had been a second ago. It was an emotion he knew to exist between Spartans but otherwise only between them and a few rare non-Spartans:

Empathy.

Coopernate- Cooperation


	54. Battle of Actium - Chapter 16 (Obumbratio)

Chapter 16 – Obumbratio

May 9th, 2545 (11:50 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Over Gulam Archipelago

:********:

The Western circumference of the Gulam Archipelago was an outward reaching arc of loose islets and islands divided by watery inlets that made the area appear like a semi-submerged extension of Pavia's coastline. Maybe that was what it had once been. The tsunami of 2501 had caused so much damage that purportedly a few of the smaller cays and islands were irreconcilably sunken, and their denizens along with them.

Duncan thought he spotted the faintest traces of human ruins beneath the turquoise waters of the inlet they were flying over. What lay below was too well crafted to be the geological handiwork of natural coastal transportation and mineral disposition. There were dark silhouettes of straight, squarish and rectangular lines that had likely been buildings neatly columned along the darker remains of eroding roadways. Many of the coral reefs dotting the seafloor were actually part of a debris field spanning much of the archipelago that had blended with the aquatic flora overtime. He recognized the outlines of car chassis covered in brain coral, displaced rooftops bathed in seaweed and expressway guardrails acting as the foundation for waving sea fans among other undersea varieties. It was the closest anyone would probably ever come to seeing Earth-bound underwater mysteries like Atlantis or even more realistic examples like Port Royal.

He wondered why the city's municipal administration never had the ruins removed. His best guess was that they either lacked the resources to get it done or that the events of 2501 were so catastrophic that no one wanted to disturb the aftermath, as the beautiful waters had become a mass grave in their own right.

Though he didn't believe in omens, that last idea wouldn't leave him alone.

He considered whether he was really prepared for this mission, and ready for using his new maneuverability unit after so long without practice. He remembered wearing it almost every day for a week back during Final Selection at Camp Ravenport. At the time, Class 207 was conducting Combat Diving Training or CDT a kilometer off the southern coast of Ireland. O'Reilly hadn't been too ecstatic about the whole situation since he had to spend a week on his own home-turf. He used up most of his free-time making sure none of the female ODSTs coming into and out of their dormitories was one of his former girlfriends in disguise. Cosmo and Stanton got a good laugh at his expense every step of the way.

During CDT, they were dropped via Pelicans into the Atlantic to scout out ancient shipwrecks along with more modern civilian craft that had been dumped some years prior. On later missions they began carrying down the same CF89 Attachable Booster Frames between squads. They mimicked NAVSPECWARCOM's HAZOP Teams that used the same equipment to bring materials up from a world's seafloor or to drag it out from the remains of a destroyed ship floating in orbit. Charlie Team did decently well in those exercises. However, at one point Duncan got a breach in his CBRN module and ended up having to share a rebreather with Drill Instructor Mahoney as they swam 300 meters to the surface. There were worse ways not to die.

At the very least he was good at a depth rating of 300 meters. But they were going down to nearly twice that, a fact that merited its own concerns.

He backed off from the Albatross' viewports that he'd been using for the trip. The rest of the drop bay behind him was alive with the chatter of several ODST squads all cooped together. Aside from Epsilon and Hotel sired as the Master Chief's Extraction Teams, there were squads Apex and Goliath who were fulfilling a similar entourage role for Spartan 087.

Before they left from the HMPD HQ's western lawn the Chief had everyone organized according to their priorities. Two of the incoming Albatrosses would ferry just the 8 Extraction Teams and the 4 Spartans that would be leading them. Next were the Carrier Teams who boarded the dropships loaded with CF89 Booster Frames donated from the personal vehicle cache of the UNSC Tower of Babel. Finally, there were the Demolition Teams that took the last two Albatrosses.

They left at approximately 1120 Hours.

Thirty minutes in, everyone was gripping wall-mounted handholds and those hanging from the ceiling to stay balanced despite that it was a relatively smooth ride. The lack of AA Shades was probably the reason for it.

Duncan had to admit the Marines of 8th Battalion had done a good job securing the archipelago. Looking back at the viewport he caught a glimpse of a small, C-shaped formation near the outer heart of the island chain. It was called Milo's Cay and it was currently filled to bursting with Covenant corpses. The inner beach and surrounding forestry were being used as a dump for the aftermath of the fighting on the three major islands. He watched a trio of Falcons pull in over the cay airlifting nets of dead Elites, Jackals, Grunts and others. They were unceremoniously released into a 50-meter fall before either splashing and sinking into the encompassed water or crashing beneath the jungle canopy.

So not only human dead were down in the Koronea, but Covenant as well. That merely worsened his already fraying nerves. He recalled that even the Staff didn't want to go where they were now headed but was committed to getting the mission done all the same.

Duncan hoped that maybe he could mirror that conviction when he felt a hand settle on his shoulder. It was Nova. Her visor depolarized to display the knowingly apprehensive look on her face as she leaned against the free-side of the viewport. "I saw you poking your nose out the window there, Irish. I wouldn't say it's a good idea though."

"Why so?"

"You think you're the only one not psyched about this?" She gestured over her shoulder towards the front of the bay. There the Master Chief and Petty Officer Second Class 'Kelly' stood hanging on to a pair of ceiling handles while talking over a private channel.

"The only ones here okay with this situation would definitely be those two. Sad to say but they've got the balls, and one of them doesn't even have balls. Me personally, I'm still thinking we might run into one of those Scampi-Squid things we saw at the oceanarium. That Bullion guy said they were native to the Koronea's abyssal regions so I'm not sure how I feel about this one just yet."

"Sounds like Calamari-time." Zack said from nearby. "Those bad boys are a bit bigger than ones on Earth. Still, I'm more concerned about those crab things. They must be native too since Hector said the stuff in his soup this morning was delivered from local markets."

"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better." Duncan said with all the sarcasm he could muster.

"Cheer up Leprechaun. If one grabs you, I'll make sure to come running with the butter."

"For the crab?"

"For you. Did you see those things? I'm not about to fight one for you. I'll toss it what it needs to start off with you while I get out of there."

"Tell you what, if one grabs me, I'll make sure you're nearby so I can grab you and keep you as a second helping, you hear?"

"Loud and clear, Captain Leprechaun. Loud and clear."

Nova glanced between them then shook her head in disapproval. "On a separate note, I managed to get some info out of Hotel-3. He explained how they managed to use the holo-pedestal to catch that broadcast."

Duncan began to stare out the viewport at the passing landmass that looked like someone wearing a shoe then scrunching up the bottom to tip-toe around. "How'd they pull it off?"

"They used their CCJ's interception function in reverse, essentially homing in on the broadcasting signal earlier in the day. Then they sent it to the squad's radioman who managed to get a stored measurement of the bandwidth until the operation started. Once all the jammers were down, Hotel-4 sent the measurements to the communication's officer on the Tower of Babel. They were able to use the destroyer's better systems to properly triangulate where the source was located."

"We could've figured that out." Duncan said mockingly.

"No, we couldn't. Remember, we came too late in the day to see anything but a recording of the original broadcast. Turns out they got to their jammer in Kastoria almost an hour before we reached ours in Mezoline. From what I heard on the records of those broadcasts, the Minister's been a busy man, or alien-thing. He's been offering up three prayers every day in different tiers of the city since it fell into Covenant hands. Each prayer is composed of three sorts of sub-sectional requests where he basically asks the Gods to help them kill all of us."

"Think he's inspiring enough to make a human convert to that cause?"

"Maybe Innies, sure. They hate us enough. We're not them so I think we're too busy at the moment trying to save faces that look like ours to start considering that kind of thing."

"Maybe so..."

Nova gave him a wary look. "You're not an Innie, are you Irish?"

Duncan laughed under his breath at the idea. "No, I'm an outie. I was born that way until kindergarten when it decided to become an Innie. I guess I'm both in a way."

He grunted as she elbowed him in the ribs.

"I'm not talking about your gross belly button inversion phase. I'm talking about you having sympathies for our second enemy."

"Me, no. I'm too much of an Earth-boy to be an Innie sympathizer, especially after what I heard they used to do in Epsilon Eridanus back in the day. But in fighting terms, I'd prefer dealing with an enemy that can't glass a planet over one that can."

"...I'm keeping an eye on you, Irish."

"I'd keep an eye on Zack if I were you. Something's telling me he's the more dangerous one out of the two of us, mostly to himself."

"Sure."

As she left to speak with the Staff, Duncan used the remaining time to stare at the passing island that vaguely reminded him of a shoe. It was Icaria island no less, and from a cursory study of his TACMAP he knew it was the third largest in the archipelago after Samos in the South and Andros in the North.

They flew over Icaria's largest town of Agios which lay along three-interlinking bays on the island's western coast. Agios possessed a number of container ports and seaports for maritime craft. The second of those held a dozen of the hybrid ocean-to-air cruises he recognized as Telchines-class recreational craft. The 22nd century designs of the ships were modeled after those of the previous century that sailed on water. However, they now had the addition of under-hull mounted engine drives powerful enough to lift the craft all the way to the upper edges of the troposphere. Their ingenuity, derived from the bright minds of the earliest iterations of Halifax Spacewerx' civilian liners, allowed tourists to High Mediolanum to take cruises over the Koronea Sea and travel in luxury between Pavia and Preveza. Depending on the weather or preference of the crew, the cruises could settle down on the sea for a tranquil ride on the waves or rise into the clouds for a speedier flight across the serpentine paths of the intercontinental Jet streams.

Today, however, Actium's famed Universality Cruises were out of operation. The 8th Battalion were instead utilizing them as operational centers. There were canvas tents placed on the ships' decks and communication's arrays setup over the topside pools. Marines moved equipment up and down transitional umbillicals keeping the vessels locked to the docks. Similar activity could be seen throughout the rest of the town with tents setup here and there while patrols from the 53rd's 3rd Tank Battalion drove along the sprawling tangle of polycrete buildings.

Duncan spotted two active mass driver stations near the docks. They were rotational Onager-class drivers that swiveled from east to west, scanning the skies for targets. Before this, local dockworkers would have used these same drivers to shoot radioactive materials into Aquilla's stellar path for special disposal or for sending packages to one of the planet's orbital elevators, the closest of which was all the way in High Estonia. However, he was curious about why the Marines would be using them now. Then he remembered a few theories that the groundside drivers were actually quite versatile, even as anti-ship artillery pieces given the right conditions. It wasn't so much a theory since it had purportedly been proven possible by the desperate bid of Harvest' population who had used a driver to shootdown an attacking Covenant ship, allowing many civilians to escape the planet.

That might have been Command's goal on the archipelago, to reactivate the drivers as additional counters to Covenant Naval reinforcements from the elusive eastern fleet or the more concerning one in the west. It made sense since the UNSC Arrow of Paris, still 15 kilometers above Pavia's coastline, could do little more than serve as a lookout for any hostile battlegroups. According to the brochure he'd read on the way from Treviso, there was already a network of 20 Onager Mass drivers stationed throughout the archipelago that would be the perfect defense against another invasion. He had to admit that was smart on Menteith's part to be thinking so many steps ahead of the game still being played in High Mediolanum's streets. The fact the 53rd's Colonel could juggle the operational needs of three different combat theaters was an impressive feat in itself, not to mention the direction he was probably giving the other task force commanders conducting their own invasions across Actium. The kind of tacticity that took was unthinkable for Duncan, and even mildly reassuring.

He just hoped Mentieth knew what he was doing now in sending them to the fourth and newest theater of High Mediolanum's invasion: The bottom of the Koronea.

Once they passed over Icaria the water changed from turquoise to dark blue and the last terrestrial crumbs of cays fell away, indicating they had left the archipelago. Shortly thereafter the first of High Mediolanum's oil rigs came within sight. The platforms rested on the verge of the republic's maritime boundary and international waters. While a few still had spills that darkened the sea in their vicinity, the firestorms that raged along some of the structures had for the most part been put out.

He wondered which of them were the Theseus and Odyssey rigs and if they were just as prepared as the ODSTs for this mission.

:********:

The Master Chief checked the nearest viewport to see how far along they were. He could tell by his near photographic memory of yesterday's flyover that the Albatrosses were less than a kilometer away from their endpoint. He switched on his commlink that would connect him to both Blue Team and the entirety of Bravo. "This is Blue-1 to all Bravo personnel; we are 400 meters out from our drop-off point. Start making your final checks. We'll be offloading in the next three minutes."

The ODSTs clueing in behind him began checking their weapons as well as their partner's gear for any signs of defects. Earlier, they had established a buddy system where the troopers would swim alongside a dive partner. They would keep an eye on each other to make sure there were no problems oxygen-wise. Afterall, any unforeseen complications half-a-kilometer underwater could prove deadly if handled alone.

With the passage of another minute the last two rigs came into view. He turned to the one to the south and activated a direct comm-link to the Marine CO there. "This is Blue-1 to Theseus control station, we're almost to our objective. Are your magnetic harpoons in place?"

"This is Captain Jean of Theseus control but you can call me Ishmael." A female voice answered smartly. "Harpoon Teams are in place, over."

"Copy that." He turned on the northern rig and switched on another link. "Blue-1 to Odyssey control station, how are those harpoons on your end?"

"This is Sergeant Major Rubello of Odyssey control." The man said drily. "We've got your harpoons ready sir. Just bring us the white whale and we'll get the job done."

"Copy."

The pilot's voice came over the intercom. "Grim-1-5 to drop bay, we're beginning our descent to the target area, two minutes out."

The Chief switched back to his private link with the rest of Blue Team as he felt the Albatross begin to descend. "Blue Team, keep an eye out for your Extraction Teams. Make sure not to leave any behind. We give that command center as small a window as possible to squawk for reinforcements and work our way to the eastern hub."

"Why do I feel as if that 'make sure not to leave any behind' part was aimed at me?" Kelly asked.

"Because you're the most likely out of any of us to leave them struggling to catch up." Fred said matter-of-factly.

"Well, it's not my fault the rest of humanity is slower. And what about Linda? She might go off on her own and they won't be able to find her."

"I'm not going Lone wolf on this one." Linda said calmly. "I already had Fred give me the talk yesterday on our way back from the HMPD."

"I'm just saying, it's not only me."

"Which is why I said it to everyone." John said. "So, don't leave them behind, is that understood?"

"What am I, a babysitter?" Kelly huffed, folding her arms across her breastplate. "Fine, Chief, I'll keep them in sight."

"If you watch their backs they'll watch yours. We'll need their help on this one."

"Like we needed their help on that raid to get Doctor Halsey back? I don't recall us needing more than a team of five Spartans for that one."

"And if I recall correctly, we came within a hair's breadth of getting wiped out on that raid." Fred shot back.

"I still think that's because I wasn't there." Linda added.

The Chief started a check-up on Kelly's gear. "It's not only impact we need. It's the numbers required to mount a full sweep of the command center in the shortest time possible. Alone, we might be fast but not thorough, and it goes without saying why I don't want a repeat of that raid."

There was silence on the comms for five full seconds. Then Kelly gave a deep sigh of surrender. "Lessons learned...right Chief?"

He nodded back and turned so she could return the favor. When she was certain his gear was properly set, she patted him on the back. "Looks like we're good."

"Looks like it."

They watched the distant waves grow closer until they stopped to hover 5-meters above the undulating surface. The flare of the engines on multiple Albatrosses caused the water directly beneath them to roil into a foamy disturbance.

Their pilot came back on the intercom. "Grim-1-5 to Extraction Teams, be advised, I'm about to drop the ramps, over."

The ODSTs closest to the walls backed away as they began to fold in on themselves in a whine of hydraulics, permitting sunlight to stream into the bay. The walls then slid outward to become ramps which the troopers began stepping onto.

Outside, the other dropships extended their ramps to let ODSTs onto them. On two of the albatrosses, the Carrier Teams began pushing their CF89 Booster Frames into the water. The craft then buoyed up to the surface for the drivers jumping in after them to mount.

The Chief turned on his company-wide comm. "Carrier Teams are in position. Everyone else move in to escort."

He was the first down the ramp with Kelly second followed by their Extraction Teams. The others on the remaining Albatrosses did the same. One by one they leaped off the edge to splash down into the water below.

Duncan was silently thankful that the temperature was still warm. The last thing they needed was for it to be freezing.

The troopers swam into their formations around the booster frames. The Extraction and Demolition Teams waded in place to give the Carriers the time needed to activate their vehicles. Once the main engines were online, the thrusters caused the craft to angle downwards into the water. A good number of the other teams grabbed onto the frames' exterior handles. Whoever couldn't would swim beside them as they began the journey into the depths.

:********:

Having found his own place on the handles of one of the booster frames, Duncan could feel the heat of the engine acceleration just behind him. A dozen other frames moved further into the deep blue, leaving bubbling columns behind the wake of their lighted engines like underwater candles. Those without a ride trailed after them, using their harnesses to jet downward and leaving similar bubbling wakes.

The two pilots of Duncan's frame were busying themselves keeping the thruster calculations stable for their descent.

He checked his HUD to see that his oxygen-meter was already active. He had 60 minutes of air left, much more than the normal reserves of his BDU.

The estimated time for reaching the bottom was 10 minutes. Even that began to feel like an eternity. The deeper they went, the more the water blackened. The lights of the booster frames and individual troopers became more distant and scattered, resembling a swarm of fireflies falling through the night.

Eventually Duncan lost track of which way was up and which was down. A flash of vertigo made him feel queasy. He tightened his grip on the handle so that he didn't accidentally let go. He slowed down his breathing to a more manageable rate and the vertigo slowly subsided.

"Hey Jefe, think they'll see us coming?" Rico asked over the comm.

"Even if they do, their chances of doing anything about it will get slimmer the closer we get." The Staff answered. "Now stop talking. We don't need to use up any more air."

"Si."

The darkness continued to close in around them and so did the silence that was permeated solely by their own breathing.

After a while, Duncan glanced at his mission timer. It read '1207 Hours'. He turned to the depth gauge on his arm bracer. The reading '437m' was increasing by one every second. For all his apprehension at what they might find at the bottom he wished that they would get there faster. The building pressure he felt on his suit made him want to skip ahead to a point where the descension was over.

At 450 meters he saw the lights of the distant teams wink in and out as something passed by. He flinched when he felt an object brush against his leg. He looked back and flashed his headlights.

He glimpsed an arrowhead-shaped fish the size of his hand near his thigh. Several of them were passing around the booster frame and one had accidentally bumped into him. At being flashed it swam away with renewed vigor.

He quickly found another thing to be thankful for, that at least it wasn't one of those Mako-Catfish creatures he'd seen yesterday.

At 465 meters the darkness directly below the cascade of human lights began changing from a featureless void into a flatter landscape with dark contours that became less organic and more artificial. Three circles of purple light appeared like blurry images slowly coming into focus. Little by little, the origins of the illumination manifested, one artificial detail at a time.

To the uninitiated, the structures below would have the appearance of three metal jellyfish gingerly resting together with their tentacles entangled in a triangular formation. Their colorful luminescence lit up the seafloor. It caused the natural darkness of the bottom to merge with the purple light, forming an eerily gray ambiance at the outer edges of the command center.

The Master Chief came in over the company's comms. "Covenant C&C is in sight. Demolition and Extraction Teams, prepare to head for your objectives. On my mark."

Duncan's grip tightened as he braced his legs against the side of his frame. At 475 meters the Chief gave the signal. "Mark!"

With a deep flexion of his knees, Duncan leaped away from the vehicle. He switched on his headlights and was momentarily blinded by the trail of bubbles that were left behind.

Nova patted him on the shoulder to let him know she was there. He repeated the action to confirm to her that it was him. Like the scores of operational pairs around them, the two diving buddies activated their harnesses and angled towards the bottom.

Their thrusters' outputs fluctuated in consistency with the movements of their retractable flippers and arms as they swam downwards. The equipment overall helped the ODSTs to cover the next 15 meters in under a few seconds.

Nav points appeared on different sections of the structures for different teams, causing the whole of Bravo to disperse.

The Carrier Teams were the first to reach the command center. They stopped just a short distance above the tops of the domed buildings, maneuvered their craft to point back towards the surface and slowly descended onto the nanolaminate exterior. After the copilot typed in a command on their display, the anchoring system built into booster frame's rear would shoot a tungsten harpoon straight through the metal, piercing the hull with a low thump. The last to dismount the frames were the crews and carrier teams themselves that fanned out along the brightened surface to setup defensive positions. They would be the first line of defense in case Covenant aquatic forces made an appearance topside.

Meanwhile, the Demolition and Strike Teams swam down to the under-areas of the bulbous edifices.

Duncan took note of the multiple glass windows and stalagmite-like communication's arrays that adorned their mostly smooth circumference. There were luminal sources the size of floodlights that established a visible perimeter on the seafloor 30 meters out from the jungle of support struts. It allowed them to see that the entire structure was built on something tantamount to an underwater volcanic field.

Masses of hydrothermal vents occupied a visible area roughly the size of two football fields that expanded well out of sight. The coney pillars oozed bubbling trails of hot, mineral rich water and hydrogen sulfide that ascended from the depths of Actium's mantle. Their formation was obviously recent, perhaps less than a million years judging by the shallow nature of the mid-ocean ridge they formed beneath the command center.

Long-legged shadows moved beneath the clouds of sulfide. Occasionally, a chitin-armored limb or abdomen of the seafloor crabs would emerge from the mists as they clambered up and over each other in organic piles, all attempting to reach the sustenance of the magma outflows.

To the gratitude of everyone seeing them, they were far enough below for the risk of coming into contact to be nearly zero. They were more interested in feeding than they were in the newcomers anyway.

The Extraction and Demolition Teams broke apart to filter through the spaces between the mangroves of struts. The demolitionists broke away even more to reach the main struts as well as a few of the lesser supports. They immediately began applying C-12 charges to them, typed in standby timer sequences then swam over to new targets.

All the while the 8 Extraction Teams weaved through the tangle of supports to reach the four entrances, two on the eastern wing and one on each of the northern and southern wings.

As Epsilon and Hotel reached theirs, Duncan examined the entry door. It possessed a circular curvature of three interfolded dimensions which came together at seams of blue indicator lights. The lights themselves had a dim glow but brightened whenever someone floated close.

The Master Chief angled himself up perpendicularly to the door until he was right against it, then took out a demolition charge. He applied it to the center and held the priming handle as he opened up a shared inter-team comm. "How are we looking, Blue Team?"

"Breaching charge planted on southern wing." 104 reported.

"Same over here." 087 replied.

"Northern wing is ready." 058 said, giving them the last answer that they needed.

The Master Chief winked his green acknowledgement light. "All Extraction Teams, be advised, you'll have exactly 7 seconds to get inside before the emergency bulkheads come online. Prepare to breach on my mark..."

Everyone in Hotel and Epsilon tensed, preparing to move once the way was clear.

"Three...two...go!"

The Master Chief twisted the priming handle and kicked off from the hatch. Three seconds later there was a blitz of light and an eruption of smoke and bubbles followed by the sound of an implosion. More air blew out from the explosive decompression inside, spewing the remains of the doors clear out of the way.

The ODSTs immediately used their thrusters to rocket into the well-lit passage on the other side of the haze of bubbles. The interior was dominated by flashing purple lights Duncan knew to be indicative of an emergency. Having counted in his head, he gauged that six seconds had passed and looked back. Everyone had cleared the entrance save for the Chief. The Spartan had made sure he was the last one through. For all his size he slipped in like an agile barracuda right before an emergency bulkhead slammed into place.

On the other end of the vertical passage was a final hatch. Its indicator lights winked red as the water began flowing out through the nearby vents. The ODSTs were slowly lowered back onto the bulkhead until they were standing in ankle-deep water.

"Blue-1 to Blue Team, is everyone in?"

The other teams relayed their statuses. Across the board, everyone had made it inside.

"Copy, start moving in. We have 15 minutes to clear this C&C. We'll stay in touch."

The Chief pointed them to several gravity lifts lining the walls. The teams leaped onto them and were sent flying towards a series of secondary hatches. Unlike the first entrance, the smaller hatches above had green indication lights. They detected their incoming presence and elicited a tone when they got within a few meters before cycling open.

Duncan shot out into a five-story tall, bell-like chamber. After his speed leveled out, he fell three meters to the honeycomb-patterned floor and used a roll to break his fall. He came up into a crouch between one of four structural braces. He stepped aside for Nova as she flew in and landed beside him.

The chamber's strobing lights washed over the bomb-shaped exteriors of four escape pods. The vehicles were parked inside of docking restraints built into the supports that stood over the main entrance. He figured that had to be how the Covenant were getting in and out of here.

The rest of the squad landed inside and split up, Epsilon taking the rightmost braces while Hotel took the left.

So far, the circular space around them was empty. But as Zack shot through the hatch, the strobing lights switched to a neutral silver, illuminating the entire space as one of the doors on the room's right side slid open.

In the three seconds it took Zack to land, a Hunter pair had stomped into the chamber, the spines on their backs rattling in irritation. They stopped past the threshold to level their cannons at the trooper once he landed in the open.

Zack froze in place as their weapons whined to life.

Suddenly, the Chief zoomed up from the last hatch. He instantly spotted the Hunters and peppered them both with assault rifle fire, causing them to momentarily lose their focus.

He shifted his weight to cause the lift's propulsion to send him flying towards the pair. Emptying his clip, he slapped a fresh magazine into the receiver before hitting the ground with a roll and seamlessly transitioning into a sprint. He kept firing, forcing the Hunters to hide behind their pavise shields. He pursued after them to the point that they began to charge. In response he cut sideways to avoid them while maintaining his rate of fire. "Epsilon, Hotel, take these two out! I'll keep their attention!"

Duncan's mind registered the orders as did everyone else's only after the Hunters loosed streams of green plasma at the Spartan, forcing him to duck and leap out of the way.

Epsilon began firing on the increasingly exposed backs and wormy ligaments of the two alien juggernauts. The Spartan continued to evade them, using floor-mounted control stations for cover then bounding out of the way when the concentrated plasma melted through them.

Hotel came in from the other side to join in the fight. Their combined efforts began chipping away pieces of the Hunters' back-armor and extracting bursts of orange gore from the worm gestalt within.

Then one of them shifted its focus back on the ODSTs and hurled a plasma torpedo at them. They ducked back in the face of the explosion that washed over one of the support braces.

The Chief regained its attention after emptying half a clip into its exposed side. Its partner gave a throaty roar in preparation for a charge. The Spartan side-stepped from his cover to toss a frag between the two behemoths. With a bounce it detonated, sending out a blast of shrapnel that raked through their vulnerable flesh. Yet it wasn't enough to take them down. It was however, enough to weaken them.

Squads Epsilon and Hotel reemerged to baptize the two creatures once more. Though bullets pinged off their armor or were deflected off their shields, the aliens were too sharply oriented towards the Chief to stop the rounds that tore into their midsections. Orange blood flared out from their torsos that proved too much a loss.

The first Hunter simply toppled to the side against the force of the ordinance. The second gave a warbling groan then keeled over, denting the floor as it landed.

"Room clear!" Hotel-1 yelled as the two squads reloaded.

The Master Chief strode out to each of the Hunters to confirm they were down. Then he nodded them on towards the doors that the pair had come through.

The troopers followed him into a concave passageway that curved in either direction along the circumference of the eastern wing. He pointed them down the left path and got them underway.

:********:

The eastern wing quickly revealed itself to be a perplexity of winding tunnels and observation decks. Half the doors they approached blinked an accepting green or remained a defiant red, denying them entry. That half and half tendency increased their reliance on utility tunnels that angled acutely around doors they couldn't access.

They searched for one of two things: the prophet and the control hub. The first objective was the most important. If the Minister of Iconography really was here then they would need to apprehend him before he found a means of escape. Next, capturing the control hub would cut off the enemy's contact with Covenant forces on the surface.

On several occasions they ran into squads of alert Grunts guarding doors. While Epsilon and Hotel would drop half their numbers without incident, the remainder would be swiftly annihilated by the Chief before the ODSTs could blink. Then they would be on the move again before running into another patrol.

They weren't the only ones having trouble either. Comm-chatter indicated intensifying firefights as the other teams pressed deeper into their structures.

Back outside at least, the Demolition Teams had already setup 55% of the necessary C-12 shaped charges. Meanwhile, the Carrier Teams were merely sitting in place atop the command center, waiting and watching for signs of a counterattack.

As for Epsilon and Hotel's situation, Duncan surmised that something was off. Three whole minutes had passed without a single ambush. He kept his SMG centered on the intersection ahead. Taking point with the Spartan, they both stopped at the corners then swiveled around to scan the perpendicular corridors.

"Clear." The Chief said.

"Clear." Duncan echoed.

The rest of the group continued on to the door at the end where they stacked up on either side as it cycled open.

Beyond was a shorter but wider corridor occupied with leaf-shaped Covenant barriers to the left and right of the primary path.

The Chief was the first to peek inside, then ducked back as a burst of plasma fire lashed out at him.

"What are we looking at, Chief?" The Staff asked from behind him.

"Plasma Cannon crew, one Elite on the gun, two with plasma rifles behind the second row of barriers. Hotel-1 and Hotel-7, move up the left. Ep-1, you're with me, we'll push right. Everyone else hold here to keep their attention." The Spartan pulled out a flashbang. "Move after the flash." He slipped out the pin and tossed it inside. A successive bang and a wash of light signaled the two binaries to dash in. Cannon fire sprayed around them but went too wide to hit even the Spartan.

The pairs reached safely behind the two closest barriers, prompting a quartet of the remaining ODSTs to swivel around the corner and target the gunner at the corridor's end. Duncan crouched just beneath Deaks who was firing his DMR as he set his sights on the Elite's flaring shields. By then the alien had restarted its cannon. Still, Duncan was able to get an accurate 10-round burst into its upper torso that finished off its energy shields. The shield's collapse punched the Elite off its gun, dazing it long enough for Deaks to put a golf-ball sized hole through its helmeted forehead.

The two binaries emerged from their barriers to advance down the next rows. The Chief met his opponent first as an Elite minor rolled out from cover to shoot at them. The Spartan had already cut out its shields with a full magazine as it brought its own plasma rifle to bare. A blast from the Staff's shotgun knocked its legs out from under it. It growled and shouted in its alien tongue. It tried to get up when the Chief delivered an executionary rifle-butt to its skull.

Hotel-1 and Reece ran into the last Elite that attempted to toss a plasma grenade over its barrier at them. A lucky shot from Hotel-1's DMR struck and detonated it in midflight. The explosion of blue energy tore a chunk out of the nearby barrier, shattering the alien's shields.

Enraged, the Elite roared a challenge from its four-way jaws. It rushed out to charge them, firing its rifle one-handed. Plasma lanced past Hotel-1 in a sheer quantity that put him on the defensive. He threw himself into the cover of a decorative alcove, leaving Reece to run as the Elite focused on him next. But the faint left the alien blind to Hotel-1 as he leaped out to strike it in the neck, breaking bones. The two-meter-tall foe reeled back and lashed out at the trooper's head only for its target to duck beneath it and riffle-butt its pivoting leg. The Elite fell to a knee. Screaming caught its attention as Private Reece countercharged, running several steps before delivering a rough dropkick into its armored midsection, sending the creature sprawling onto its back. The duo seized the opportunity to pump semi-automatic and full-auto fire into its chest, breaking away its armor to destroy the body beneath.

"Room clear!" Hotel-1 declared, giving Reece an approving pat on the back.

"If they're sending Elites then we must be close." The Spartan noted. "Be on your guard."

The ODSTs shadowed the Chief to the next door. It slid open, revealing an expansive room with three concentric, ovular levels that elevated up from a central holo-dais. Below the dais was a glass flooring that separated the room from the sea. Several sets of Covenant barriers were present on the floors along with four Ultras that rounded on the door the moment it opened. The intense eye-visors of the white-armored aliens centered on the Spartan and ODSTs that rushed into the room before they could set their plasma rifles loose.

Both Extraction Teams were lucky enough to slip behind a few of the closest barriers.

The Ultras similarly maneuvered to cover.

Two Shades were on opposing upper platforms connected to the ground floor by a pair of divergent stairways. Their Grunt gunners swiftly began a vicious salvo on the trooper's positions.

"Any ideas, Chief!?" The Staff called over, firing his AR at the nearest Ultra to keep it pinned.

The Master Chief scanned the room and spotted another pair of nearby platforms with a stairway design mirroring the first. "Ep-1, I'll need half your squad. We'll use the second floor to flank around those shades then hit the rest from behind."

"Copy, Ep-2, 4, 6, 7 and 8, you're with the Chief! Everyone else lay down cover fire!"

The troopers flashed their acknowledgements. At the Spartan's order, they broke for the nearby stairs while the others arose to batter the shields of the Ultras, forcing them back behind their barriers.

The secondary group used the ramparts on the stairs as shields from the Shades. They reached the first platform and accessed its rear door to get inside the second-floor corridor.

The Chief pointed to the left end. "Take the one on the left. I'll take right."

With a nod, Duncan, Hector, Rico and Zack followed Nova's example in dashing down that end of the corridor while the Chief disappeared down the other side. After rounding the first corner they nearly ran headlong into five Grunts trying to flank. The troopers beat them to the draw, each picking off a Grunt before they could get off a single shot.

They rounded the second corner in time to see the Chief pass into the furthest doorway. They stacked up on the closest door, causing it to cycle open.

Unlike its counterpart that had gone silent, the shade on the platform here was too busy pouring plasma on their squadmates to notice its newest visitors. A three-round burst to the back of the head from Nova's BR knocked the Grunt clean out of the seat.

As the ODSTs came out onto the platform a sudden resurgence of fire came from the second shade, drawing their attention. To their surprise, it wasn't a Grunt but the Master Chief himself at the controls. He swiveled the emplacement from left to right, striking the Ultras below in the back. The original gunner lay beside him with its head twisted at an odd angle.

Nova quickly took to his idea and threw herself into the other shade. She set the ovular targeting reticle onto the closest Ultra that had been about to hurl a grenade at the first turret, only to tumble back under her plasma spray. Her entourage moved around to start picking targets.

On the far side of the room, the other ODSTs diffused from their cover to flank the remaining Elites.

The fury of the advancing Helljumpers mixed with their Shades to easily cut down the last Ultras, leaving their scorched and riddled bodies lying across the room.

"Blue-1 to Epsilon and Hotel, we're clear here. Let's move on."

The Chief spared a proud nod at Nova as they both dismounted the Shades.

The troopers assembled at the next door. The Chief stopped near the threshold to turn on his company-wide commlink. "This is Blue-1 to Extraction Teams; my group should be nearing the control hub. Have you found anything on your ends?"

The whine of plasma fire followed by the thudding auditory signature of an M90 shotgun crackled in response. "This is Blue-2, we've run into a lot of Grunts and Elites over here. We've discovered some special kind of resting chamber. Me and Apex-1 figured it's probably the private quarters for some kind of dignitary, over?"

"Copy. Blue-3?"

The exertion sounds of sprinting came over Blue-3's end. "Got nothing over here, Chief."

A trio of shots from a DMR indicated Linda's interjection. "Same goes for us. However, I'm picking up on a few faint but regular EM pulses that don't seem to be connected to the main infrastructure. We don't know where its coming from."

"Understood." The Chief replied. "Find out what you can. The broadcasting signal appears to be strongest in the eastern wing. We'll follow it straight to the source."

A shared "Copy that" sounded off from the rest of Blue Team.

The Master Chief led them into another series of interlocking hallways, although this time their progress was left unimpeded as the passages became quieter than before.

Within the span of a minute, they reached yet another door. But this one was noticeably different due its four-sided diamond shape. In addition, the access lock was three interlocking circles rather than a single lock. The indicator lights rather unexpectedly reacted to their presence and split apart to unveil the room behind it.

It too, much like the door, was visibly different from the others they had encountered on their way here. First there was the comfortably warm temperature instead of a chilling coolness. Then there were the hundreds of crystals hanging from the ceiling that twinkled under the mild lighting.

Regardless, they remained guarded as they fanned out.

Duncan kept track of the room's various appliances. There was a tall pillar of shining metal in one of the corners with a translucent inner core displaying liquids with gradually shifting colors. That had to be a lamp. Then there were the several low-lying sets of cushioned platforms he guessed to be couches. Next was a circular table with a glowing center that emitted lines of distorted air. As he passed by, he dared to put his hand into the aerial distillation. His arm began to levitate without him having to hold it up, confirming his suspicions that it was a stasis field device. Finally, there was the low-lying furniture similar to the couches that was wider and more pentagonal with pillows along its frame. That had to be a bed.

"This looks like just another..." Hotel-1 stopped to plant a Nav point on a device near the bed.

Duncan recognized it as the same device the prophet had used on the broadcast, a levitational throne. Now the device was lying dormant against the side of the window that gave them a view of the seafloor.

"Private quarters." The Chief said, finishing the original thought. "Eyes up, the prophet has to be here."

"Hey, hold on a sec." Zack pointed at the throne. "Wouldn't that prophet-guy be sitting in that thing? Why would he just leave it behind?"

"It might be for show." Nova pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but...then that means this is another private quarter like the one 087 found. That doesn't make much sense. There's only one prophet, right?"

"Maybe this is just his smokeroom."

The Chief shook his head. "No, it's a good question. Let's find our answer." He nodded towards the exit.

The group passed into hallways that became more and more straightforward until they stopped at a large doorway which yielded for them. They entered into an unusually open space with the appearance of a transitional waiting area.

They came out right as the second door on the other side slid open. The ODSTs took aim, only to find a line of troopers aiming right back at them with Spartan-087 at the head of their formation. Both parties quickly lowered their weapons once they saw each other.

Not wasting a moment, the Chief pointed two fingers to the last concave door lying between the first two. "The broadcasting signal is strongest in there. You know what to do."

Flashing their acknowledgement lights, the four teams converged on the sides of the door. The Master Chief nodded to Kelly, then as one they stepped into the range of the sensors. The lights blinked green as the locking mechanism disengaged and the door cycled open with a high-pitched hiss.

The Spartans were the first ones through with their teams moving in after them. Every rifle and SMG sight scanned the darkness inside but inevitably settled on the single, shining being that illuminated the center of the shadows.

It was the Minister of Iconography. He was praying with his hands extended towards the heavens. Only it wasn't the minister, not in the flesh.

The prophet's shimmering image was being projected over a sole holo-pedestal.

Lights suddenly flashed on across the room, etching out its full details. It was a semicircular chamber of four descending rows with two lines of opposite-facing control consoles on each row. Their displays were uniformly offline and unoccupied. However, the primary display on the far wall broke the norm as it warmed to life.

A moment later it was active.

There was a single figure on the screen, an Elite in black armor that would have made it blend seamlessly with the darkness around it were it not for its bloodred, V-shaped visor. Its appearance made everyone stop in their tracks.

Its deep voice came out with a resonant fluency that sent a shiver down Duncan's spine.

"Demons, Imps, heretics all. You whose every breath defies the will of our Gods; I welcome you to your end."

The Minister's image deactivated.

The frantic note in Spartan-058's voice as she came on the general comms caught everyone's ear. "Blue-4 to Blue Team and Bravo, multiple high EM sources detected! Pulse immin-"

The comm became awash with static then died as waves of visceral electrical energy shot through the ceiling, shutting off the lights amidst arcs of uncontrolled power that flashed between the consoles, shorting them out in stochastic explosions of sparks.

The last thing Duncan saw was the red visor of the Elite before everything went black.

Obumbratio - Shadows


	55. Battle of Actium - Chapter 17 (Evadere)

Chapter 17 – Evadere

May 9th, 2545 (12:24 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Undersea Covenant Command Center, Central Hub

:********:

'...ODST BDU Unit-75441/_Misriah Armory - Epsilon ERDI Distribution Facil. 'Adorjan'/_Distribution Date: Jan 5th, 2544 – To: (7th Shock Troops Battalion HQ 'Falchion Base')/ _User: 35549-80061-DI'/_...Back-up utilization process..._Active_'

Duncan watched the last, blinking underscore of the sequence scrolling across his HUD. Everything else beyond the bright text was dark and featureless. He had a foggy idea that he had passed out. From his orientation he could tell that he was lying down face first.

His arms and legs felt stuck in place. No matter what he tried, he couldn't move. Everything was uniformly locked down, leaving him proverbially buried in his own armor.

The black-armored Elite came back to his mind. He quickly became alert and just in time as his gear began loosening around him. Slowly, stretching a leg and moving an arm became easy again. He eventually pushed himself onto his knees, grunting from the unexpected effort. He heard others struggling to get up as well. It was a good sign. It meant whatever had happened earlier wasn't serious, or at least he thought so until he saw the Master Chief.

The Spartan was on his hands and knees with his rifle lying beside him. At first, he seemed winded. Then he realized that the soldier was utterly stiff. His armor lights were all dark. If anything, the Master Chief looked as if someone had shut him down like a robot.

Duncan tried switching on his VISR mode. Much to his relief it actually turned on, causing the reboot code to vanish as the surrounding room was painted in a fresh green glaze.

He saw the others scattered around him on the upper platform of the control hub. They all looked slightly dazed, taking hesitant steps and scanning the darkness for signs of an ambush. The sole outliers were the Master Chief and Spartan 087, both of whom lay motionless on all fours.

"What just happened?" Duncan asked. No one answered. His voice wasn't registering on their comms. Neither was anyone else' on his. The Staff bumped him on the shoulder and pointed to his external speakers. He turned them on and was able to hear his own voice again. "What happened?"

"EMP." Nova replied, hobbling over to them. "That split-jaw on the screen fried the whole center, caused our armor systems to enter emergency shutdown. My guess is we got knocked out for a few seconds thanks to the over-pressurization." She nodded down towards the two statuesque Spartans. "Same goes for them it seems."

The rest of Epsilon, Hotel, Apex and Goliath regrouped around the two supersoldiers. While some of the troopers called on them to ask if they were alright, no response came.

"We can't just leave them here." Nova said.

The Staff thought over their options. "We'll have to pull them out to a more secure location. We'll figure out what to do from there."

Zack crouched down beside the Chief and unapologetically knocked on his helmet. "Hey, you still alive in their?"

"Ep-7, get-"

"Hold on a sec. Let me try something..." Before anyone could stop him, Epsilon's radioman reached for the seal on the back of the Master Chief's helmet. The moment his fingers gained purchase on the release device the Spartan's armor lights flickered on, spooking him. He fell backwards as the two-meter-tall soldier arose from his mechanical paralysis to once again stand tall. His helmet lights came online, highlighting the inactive display on the other side of the hub.

"Woah, did I do that?" Zack asked from the floor.

The Chief looked down at him, shook his head and walked over to his counterpart. He kneeled down and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Her back-up systems should be coming online now. It takes a little longer for us to get our armor operational after EMPs."

A moment later the lights on Kelly-087's armor returned to an active state. Then she sprung onto her feet with a single, sinuous pushup. Instantly her hand was around her shotgun, reminding Duncan that he had somehow kept his grip on his own SMG.

"So much for a warm welcome." She hissed; irritation evident in her voice. "Chief?"

The Chief knowingly nodded. "Those pulses Linda detected must have been separate devices planted on the infrastructure."

"Which means this was a setup." Kelly sighed. "What do you bet there was no Minister of Iconography to begin with?"

"No, he's on Actium somewhere...just not here."

A sharp cracking noise caught everyone's attention. They looked around with their weapons raised. Another crackle sounded, this one more distinctly glass-like.

They looked up to the crescent-shaped window spanning the ceiling. There were cracks in the glass spiderwebbing from a dozen circular objects that glowed an increasingly angry-red. Duncan identified them as plasma breaching charges, twelve that were about to breach the only thing between them and millions of gallons of seawater.

"We shouldn't be here either." The Chief pointed to the door. "Troopers, fall back, double-time!"

The hub was immediately filled with desperately fast footfalls, too many for Duncan to track except those of his own as the ODSTs dashed for the doors.

Muffled explosions above were followed almost immediately by the sound of onrushing water. The moment the last of them made it through, Kelly and the Master Chief slid inside. Either Spartan grasped the deadened frame of the doors and pulled. Water spewed through the closing gap at a rising pressure. The ODSTs ran over to help, grabbing whatever they could to pull the barrier along. After what Duncan felt were the longest ten seconds of his life, they forced the doors to close, the locking mechanisms sealing it shut.

The water had already reached up to the trooper's knees and halfway up the Spartans' calves. Moreover, the inside of the hub sounded like an exploding waterfall. Even the door itself groaned under the stress.

"That won't hold for long." Kelly noted.

"We'll buy ourselves some time." The Chief planted a Nav point on the passageway where Epsilon and Hotel had come in.

The others went after him into the hallway. They began systematically closing several of the inactive doors leading to the control hub. At pulling the fourth one into place, the Chief had them withdraw to the Prophet's chambers. Much to everyone's consolation, the room itself was completely dry. However, sounds of onrushing water coming from another connected passageway prompted them to close that door as well.

They regrouped at the center of the room where their focus was redirected towards getting their comms back online. After a minute of trying, the Master Chief got through on the groupwide communications. "This is Blue-1 to Blue-3, status report."

The strained voice of Fred-104 answered, though it was occasionally overwhelmed with the sound of grinding metal. "This is Blue-3, we...managed to get out of the hall we were in when everything...started pouring in."

"Copy that. Blue-4?"

"We're here, Chief. We're hunkering down at our entry chamber...sorry I wasn't able to see those EMP sources for what they were."

"And what were they?" Kelly asked.

"Deployable Power Drain Devices, multiple. I contacted a few of the Demolition Teams after their comms came back on. They found dozens of them nested in compartments around the support struts. We also found a good number of them in the hull all probably connected to a one-way signaling system. Chief, the frames are down across the board. The pulse struck them as well so the carrier teams are just floating out there. Same with the Demolition Teams since the initiators on the C-12 shaped charges they planted are out of commission. I can't even contact the Theseus or Odyssey" There was a hesitant pause. "What do we do from here?"

All eyes turned to the Chief.

While he stood at the room's center, visibly unwavering, he didn't give an immediate answer. He moved for the inactive stasis field projector and briefly stared at it. Then his head slowly rose, struck by an idea. His focus shifted to the window. "Blue Team and all Bravo Company personnel, we have a new objective." He turned to face everyone. "We're going to destroy the main support struts from the inside."

"How do we do that, Chief?" Hotel-1 asked. "The only thing we have that still works are our BDUs, rifles and some grenades."

"That's all we need. From the dossier our intelligence provided about Covenant command structures such as these, they tend to have supports with inbuilt plasma energy repulsion units. They're devices that release bursts of radiation strong enough to keep away natural fauna in an environment. That's why those crabs we saw didn't bother trying to climb up here. We'll need to reach the main struts in each of the wings and destroy them simultaneously, and we already know where they should be. Once that's done, we'll evacuate to the entry chamber where me and my teams got into the Eastern wing. The chain reaction from the repulsion units should be enough to lift us close to 200 meters off the seafloor, close enough to have the Odyssey and Theseus reel us in."

Fred whistled. "It's a high-risk plan Chief. I get the picture but why do we all have to gather at the same entrance?"

"That makes it easier for us to escape. In case the reaction doesn't get us to 200 meters we'll have to mount an emergency decompression."

"Decompression." Linda said, catching on to just how crazy his plan really was. "Chief, are you sure?"

"It's the only way to be sure." He said firmly. "We'll need it as a back-up option in the scenario that we don't get as far as we need to. Demolition Teams, if you can hear me, I want you to plant your remaining C-12 on the bulkheads of the main entrances. Make sure it's enough to breach the whole barrier material."

Leaders of the Demolition Teams responded in kind.

"Hotep-1 to Blue-1, no problem Chief."

"This is Guardian-1, copy that. Beginning distribution now."

"Angel-1 here, we'll help Guardian over at the eastern wing, over."

"Good to hear." The Chief said. "Carrier Teams, hold your positions. You'll be taking the brunt of the ascension force where you are but there's no safe way for us to let you inside without prematurely compromising the entire structure. The Demolition Teams will regroup with you and use the anchored CF89s to ride this center to the surface. Do you copy?"

There was a detectable hesitation on the part of the carriers. Duncan knew what the Chief was asking of them. Their rapid rise to the surface could cause problems that no diver in his right mind wanted. Even with their pressurized submersible maneuverability apparatuses, their internal pressure could not be regulated at fast speeds such as that of a building riding an explosion, hence why they came down here so slowly.

"Charon-1 to Blue-1, can't we just swim to the surface sir? Our PSMA-92s are still good and the chances of getting messed up by that ascent would be pretty high, not to mention if you decompress those chambers then you'll also be at risk of getting messed up like us. Shouldn't everyone just abandon ship on this one?"

"We'll need this structure for data recovery so the extraction teams will be required to stay onboard to make sure it reaches the surface...unless we're forced to evac." The Chief said. "Even if you did go ahead of us, we couldn't wait until you were completely clear of the water to detonate. At this rate, I estimate this C&C doesn't have longer than 15 minutes before we face full structural integrity failure as the flooding spreads, which will leave more of the center potentially too compromised for data recovery. That's not enough time for you to get up there and call the Albatrosses back so you'll be stuck. The explosion of the sulfide fields will briefly cook the water and everything in it within a 3-kilometer radius, everything, even you. But if you stay atop the C&C the thermal expansion won't hit you hard. Nanolaminate material like the one this place is made of is good at heat energy absorption. You'll need to remain shielded on the topside to survive."

"...I copy, Chief."

The Chief looked around. "I'm not just putting your lives on the line because I want to." His gaze settled on Reece. "I want as many of you to make it out of this as possible. But to do that we'll have to run the risk of none of us getting out of here at all. Our mission comes first. Is that understood, Helljumpers?"

Duncan had never heard the Chief say so many words except during the initial presentation. He was mostly quick to his point. But by his explanation, he sounded as if he wanted them to know exactly what his motivations were. His focusing on Private Reece made him think back to their exchange at the armory. He wondered if the Spartan was saying all of this for their sake, as a response to the story Reece had told them.

The ODSTs of Bravo Company, however, responded with a resounding affirmation of his orders, sounding off their ballsy willingness to finish what they'd started.

"We got this Chief!"

"Semper fi, it's time to do or die!"

"Let's just get this thing started already, I'm getting bored as it is!"

Epsilon, Apex, Goliath and Hotel were in heated agreement as well since no one, not even Reece, wanted to just quit and die, or more importantly risk tarnishing the record of the 105th in being outdone by a bunch of Spartans. Duncan had even felt a strong sense of competitive pride rise up within himself whenever he was around them. He wasn't about to let them get all the credit from doing the job he'd trained for.

Seeing that they were ready, the Chief gave further orders. "Spartans, we'll send half our teams to stand guard at the entry chamber. Those escape pods are likely offline as well but any surviving Covenant will probably try reaching them. We don't want them compromising that chamber. Lead the other half to hit those repulsion units, then double-time it to the rendezvous point."

"Understood." The three Spartans said in unison.

"Epsilon, you're with Kelly. Apex, Hotel and Goliath you go to the chamber."

The ODSTs winked their acknowledgement lights. But Kelly remained uncertain. "Why Epsilon?"

"They'll be able to keep up with you better than anyone else."

"And you?"

"I'm going alone. The strut on the other side is the riskiest target considering the distance."

The Chief cut her off before she had a chance to voice any potential opposition. "Move, out! Be back to the entry chamber in 7!"

The ODSTs moved for two of the chamber's three other doors they had yet to use, pulling them open to run out. Duncan looked back to see Kelly watching the Chief as he disappeared down the third passage. Then she turned and went after Epsilon.

:********:

Squad Epsilon fought to keep up with the female Spartan racing ahead of them who seemed to be having a brisk jog while they were busy sprinting in her wake.

Kelly-087 led them down hallways, around curving passages and through the occasional ovular room. She pried doors open for them and would regularly navigate them along a different path when they encountered flooded rooms. They soon reached a lengthy hallway headed straight to where they needed to go. The Nav-point beyond the door at the end read '127m'.

Mito spoke up through concentrated breaths. "I still think whoever planned this really didn't think twice about...this. How can they hope to...drown us if we've got this gear?"

Renni ran in beside him. "That's not what they're after. That Elite with the red visor, he looked like some new special forces that-"

"Wait, new? Even doesn't know about them?" Zack gasped. "That's crazy to think there's something you actually don't know, I mean, being ONI and all-"

"My point is these Elites aren't trying to drown us. They don't have to."

"Then what-"

"They're trying to use our plan against us."

Zack started to slow down in thought then caught back up to her. He depolarized his visor to make his visible confusion plain to see.

"You didn't think we were the only ones that knew about the hydrogen sulfide mists, did you? They probably planted this structure here from the start to lure them in." She nodded at Kelly. "There were plenty of other spots without vents but they chose this one specifically, and even stationed forces here to make us think they were protecting something important. Then they could flood this place piece by piece, using the disabled doors to trap us and temporarily contain the flooding like an active time-bomb.

Once enough time passed, there'd be mass explosive decompressions that would strike the facility's main power core which the repulsor units we're after are connected to. It wouldn't have been affected by the EMP since it has its own energy shielding. But the way this place is setup would cause an overwhelming amount of pressure to eventually build-up then strike the center and the core. While that would already be enough to crush us, the water this far down would break those shields and destroy the core. The overpressure could obliterate this entire center and likely light the sulfide fields, causing that thermal expansion effect the Chief mentioned."

"Hey, can you turn that into English for me?"

Renni depolarized to show she was dead serious. "In a few minutes they're going to turn this place into a giant, fiery vortex. We need to get this thing to the surface before that happens."

The distant groaning of metal yielding before seawater hammered her words into even sharper clarity.

"Then why not just plant explosives at the core?" The Staff asked. "That'd be easier than using the sea, wouldn't it?"

"It would, but then they would chance some of us surviving in scattered pieces of wreckage and they're probably not planning on taking those chances given how tough the Spartans are. It's better to try and kill them with the precision of the rapid decompressions while simultaneously keeping them trapped. That way no one escapes, and if that fails then the inflow suction would keep everyone inside in proximity of the core when it goes off."

"I see. Then why have two private quarters rather than one?"

"My best guess is that they were expecting us to come from either or both entrances. So, they created those quarters to make anyone coming from any direction arrive at the same conclusion that a prophet really was here. Then they could bait us with that radio-signal leading to the central hub for them to spring their trap. Its genius."

"Are you sure they're genius ones here?" Yuri asked. "You figured out their whole strategy off top of head. And we are heading to disrupt plan. It's definitely not foolproof."

"We'll see." Kelly remarked as they stopped at the door. The Nav point read '10m'. Their objective was just on the other side. She forced her fingers into the divide of the door and tried pulling it open. She gained a little headway then suddenly stopped and began straining.

She glanced at the ODSTs. "Ep-4, help me with this."

Hector jogged to the other side, grabbed the ornate patterning and pulled. Together they pried the door half a meter, enough for everyone else to see the glowing eyes of the cause of their struggle.

An Ultra was fighting to hold it closed on the other side.

The Staff reacted first. He leaped forward, leveled his shotgun at the alien's midsection and fired point-blanc. The blast flared its energy shields as it reeled back, freeing Kelly and Hector to pull the door the last of the way and whip around with their weapons.

The Spartan burst its shields with her own shotgun. A combined follow-up from the entirety of Epsilon quickly reduced the alien to a rag doll of breached armor and blue blood. It collapsed onto its back, soundly defeated.

Kelly took point into the cylindrical chamber beyond.

A large pillar occupied the center, descending from a socket in the ceiling down into one on the ground floor. It had a 5-meter-wide diameter and a height eight times that. Multiple lines of radiating plasma energy ran up and down its frame with pulses of light flashing down their length. Along the lines were bulb-like conduits where the plasma cycled about, becoming more radioactively dense then surging down the line to another conduit for further radiological condensation. Those had to be the repulsor units.

The support strut was encompassed by an alcove baring step-like attachments that connected and stabilized it to the wall.

"This is it." The Staff said as they approached.

"Blue-2 to Blue-1, we've reached our support strut, over."

"Copy. The others have also reached theirs. I'm still on my way to mines. We start in 1 minute. Be ready."

"Roger." Kelly nodded to the troopers and they fanned out around the target, searching cautiously for signs of anything hiding above. However, the fluctuating lights from the plasma caused the shadows of the wall attachments to regularly elongate and angle around like the hands of a clock, making their chances of spotting anything all the more difficult. Still, they kept their eyes out in case the Ultra hadn't been alone.

At ten seconds to the end, the troopers all set their gun sights on the bulbs. All the while, Kelly patrolled around the alcove, searching for signs of an ambush.

The Staff counted the last seconds aloud. "Five...four...three...two...open up!"

A collective barrage of SMG, AR and DMR fire lashed out all at once, striking bulbs along the support struts. The repulsor units proved easy to destroy. Many of the glassy conduits were shattered completely, causing the plasma within to pour out like molten lava that became brighter the further down they fired. Newly arriving plasma began spurting out from the damages, melting the metal where it landed.

Duncan had to side-step a few times to avoid the deadly rain as he popped several bulbs with his first magazine. He ejected the spent clip. As he was reaching for another, he saw a figure leap down from the fluctuating shadows of a wall attachment above.

In the split-second before it was right on top of him, he saw its glowing eye-visors and an energy sword flicker to life in its hand. He was about to roll away when another shadow shot over him.

Kelly slammed into the Ultra in mid-air, sending them both flying over the ODSTs. They crashed into the nearby wall of the alcove. Both combatants shot to their feet and leaped at each other. The Ultra swiped at her head but she ducked beneath the swing of its sword while bringing her shotgun up to blast it in the face. Although its shields held the Elite staggered back, giving Kelly an opening to gun-butt it in the chest, finally shattering its protection. Then the Elite grabbed the weapon as it toppled back, pulling them both down with it.

The moaning of stressed metal resounded a second before the ceiling split apart in several places, permitting jets of highly pressurized water to rain down into the chamber.

The two combatants wrestled in ankle-deep water, Kelly fighting to restrain its sword arm and the Elite trying to keep the barrel of her shotgun pointed away from its torso. She stayed on top of the scuffle, keeping it pinned beneath her knee while resisting its efforts to get the upper hand.

"Spartan!?" The Staff called out.

Kelly spoke through gritted teeth. "Keep...shooting!"

The water continued to surge in around them but the ODSTs followed through on their orders.

Kelly pushed her shotgun downward, taking advantage of the Elite's grip on the pumping mechanism to force another shell into the chamber. Then she flexed her own grip on its hand, twisting and breaking its wrist. As it cried out and dropped its sword, her left hand was free to punch it in the side of the head, denting its helmet. She pulled her shotgun free from its loosened grasp, slammed the barrel into its forehead and pulled the trigger. Buckshot blew out from the back of its head in a flash of blue blood. She rolled off the body which floated almost to her knees, only to see a plasma grenade fall out of its hand into the water.

It brightened.

She threw herself out of the way before the detonation. But while she escaped, the explosion struck the support strut. It channeled into one of the already damaged plasma lines in a continuous eruption of blue flames until it ran out of sight. Fires erupted through the strut's upper socket from a hidden reserve. Successive destruction began carving its way down the rest of the architecture.

"We've done our job, Epsilon, now get moving!" Kelly shouted.

The ODSTs ran for the door, almost having to wade through the tides. Kelly was the last to leave the room as the strut behind them lit up in an eruption of pure white flames.

They had gotten 10 meters from the chamber before the blast whipped them forward. A massive roar of grinding metal struck their ears just as part of the command center disconnected, causing the passageway to lift up and send them sliding forward. The passage leveled out once the structure fell back down but remained slanted, forcing them to run up an incline.

"Blue-2 to Blue-1, we just took out our main support strut, over!"

There was another distant explosion, then another, and a third that threw them into the air again. Everyone managed to land well enough to keep running save for Zack who was flung into the ceiling. He still managed a roll and came up sprinting, winded yet undaunted.

"This is Blue-1, I just destroyed mine as well! Blue-3 and 4, report!"

"We just blew ours too, heading back now!" Fred replied.

"Same here!" Linda answered. "We're on our way!"

Another deep rumbling commenced beneath their feet. Racing past a viewing window, they saw the visible seafloor disappear beneath a blinding flash as the fires made contact with the sulfide mists.

Again, they were sent careening around. They grabbed onto what they could to hold against the tumultuous upheaval then started off again as the floor rumbled like a rocket beneath them.

They circumvented areas where the flooding was severe, barely avoiding doors about to burst. Gravity along with the ever-tilting nature of the center caused the tides racing towards them to instead veer left and right, away from their path. All the while the command center shook around them. Looking at their depth gauges they could tell that they were shooting towards the surface a meter a second.

Explosions within the partially diagonal hallways they ran through tossed heated shrapnel and erratic bursts of fire that pinged and washed over their armor. At one point the Staff had to push Yuri and himself to the ground to avoid a ragged disk of nanolaminate material large enough to cut them both in half. It harmlessly embedded into the wall behind them.

They ducked under more flaming conduits that sizzled and popped out from above as well as jumping over slagging floor plates in their rush for the rendezvous point.

Epsilon soon found itself running across the rounded window of a partially inverted room. It cracked under their boots, mainly the Spartan's that carried the rear of the group. Somehow, she didn't accidentally trigger a breakdown until the moment she leaped off the window to head after them into a connecting corridor. Then the glass imploded, swallowing the room in water. It would have shot into the corridor in hot pursuit were it not for the curving architecture which caused it to level out behind them.

Once they'd cleared another flaming corridor and started crossing over a three-way intersection, Duncan risked a brief glance at the Nav point. The reading '70m' meant they still had a way to go.

Suddenly as he and Hector were crossing the intersection there was a nearby interior explosion accompanied by a shift in gravity. While the rest of the squad had already made it, Hector and Duncan were thrown down the perpendicular hallway as the art of the command center they were in bucked upwards.

Hector managed to grab onto the edge of the other hallway and held on. Duncan wasn't so lucky. As he fell, he saw the Staff and Nova pull Hector in then stare helplessly at him, as did the Spartan trapped on the other side of the gap.

He plunged into the water 20 meters below. Conflicting currents yanked away his gear like a ravaging assailant. Any resistance was beaten out of him each time he crashed into an unseen piece of disformed structuring and damaged conduits. He felt himself beginning to black out when he shot back to consciousness at sensing something familiar slipping out of his back pocket. He immediately grabbed it and held on with everything he had. Then he slammed into something headfirst and went limp.

:********:

Kelly watched Ep-8 vanish into the roiling waters below.

She shifted her attention to his squadmates who were searching for any signs of him. "Go!" She shouted. "I'll find him! Just get going!"

The troopers turned to her, to themselves and looked briefly unsure of what to do. But the Staff gave her a firm nod, spared a final look at the surface below and kept moving. One by one the others followed his example. Ep-2 was the last to leave. She took one final look at the Spartan then ran.

Not even a second after Kelly looked for a way down, the inclined passageway became aglow with fires spreading from leaking coolant. The angry waves were slowly rising.

The Master Chief's words rang through her mind; "Keep an eye on your extraction teams. Make sure not to leave any behind." She wasn't about to either. Those troopers were counting on her to save their comrade, their friend. As she maneuvered herself to climb down, a memory caught her attention. It was of that day when the Spartans first received their armor and were sent to board a Covenant ship. She saw Sam in her mind's eye. He was standing there on that ship with a plasma mark on his left breastplate right below the numbers '034', his young face remaining strong even at knowing what needed to be done. That wouldn't happen here, she decided, not again, not while she could still do something about it.

She pushed off and dove headfirst into the fiery waters below.

She torpedoed through the surface and arced upward, becoming momentarily reliant on her headlights to see. The shadows were peeled away by smaller explosions further down the hallway, illuminating jagged wall fragments and sparking conduits like the mouth of a macabre cave. She soon spotted what she was looking for.

Ep-8 was entangled in a mesh of live wiring off to her right. He wasn't moving.

Fortunately, he was still breathing. Nevertheless, the main body of his PSMA-92 was completely missing.

A lack of response from him over the comms made her conclude he was unconscious. With his CBRN module gone his suit was probably relying on its own air reserves which, for an ODST, wasn't much. She started untangling him from the wiring, careful to keep the sparking ends from making contact with her own armor. At this rate he was lucky that he hadn't been fried to death thanks to the external resistive layers of his suit.

She hefted him over her shoulders and saw an object fall from his hand, a rock. She easily caught it, thought to throw it away but then considered something. It had to be important to him if he chose to hold onto it after coming well within death's crosshairs.

Kelly placed it in her utility belt. She worked her way to the surface and began climbing back towards the hallway that the rest of Epsilon had gone through. A moan drew her attention to the wall of the intersection that had only recently become the ceiling.

Water dripped from emerging cracks, poured and finally burst in through the growing gash to rush over her like a waterfall. She tightened her grip on her charge and clambered on.

Halfway to the top she was alerted to the sound of something else giving way and leaped to the other side just before a piece of flaming debris twice her size came crashing down. Nearly there she was forced to leap again to the other side to avoid a sheer tidal wave that came surging down the hallway they had used to get here.

Just barely safe, she pulled herself into the adjacent hallway. She resecured Ep-8 over her shoulder and ran, ducking underneath flaming obstacles and vaulting over other vertical shafts with volatile, watery basins.

"Blue-1 to Blue-2, everyone's here at the rendezvous point including Epsilon. Where are you?"

She checked the Nav point ahead which read '54m'. "I'm 50 meters out Chief. Had to rescue one of my troopers. Can you hold the door for me?"

"We'll try, but the hall outside is ready to buckle. Use your best speed."

"Goes without saying." Kelly grinned. "I guess this is the first time you beat me in a race, hey Chief?"

"It's because I went alone. Think you can make it?"

Kelly rounded a corner and slid to a stop to see that the Nav point '40m' lay at a door in the middle of a long hallway more than twice that distance. John and Fred were holding it open from the other side.

"I'm coming in."

No sooner did she say it did the door on the far end finally give way before a raging tide that surged forward.

She moved Ep-8 off her shoulder to cradle him so that she could move faster and pushed off.

In under a second she cleared the first 7 meters to press into her top speed. At 2 seconds she was halfway there. At 3 seconds she had reached within 5 meters of the door.

The incoming flood attempted to beat her, shooting outward in a broiling flood. Knowing she would have no time to stop herself, she found her solution in the curving braces along the walls. In the last half second, she leaped onto a brace directly opposite her destination, pivoted and jumped off.

Kelly flew through the gap in the doors and landed in a forward tumble yet was careful to hold Ep-8 in a way that kept her MJOLNIR from crushing him. She skidded onto her feet with him still in her arms and turned back. She had arrived just in time as the water began bursting in after her. Once she was through, John and Fred pulled either side of the door closed, cutting off the rapid inflow.

Linda and the other ODSTs were standing around the support braces over the entry hatch. Some of them were checking out the escape pods docked further up. There were indications that the Covenant had tried to make a few breakthroughs here. A number of freshly slaughtered Elites and Grunts lay around or near the chamber's two doors along with two deceased Hunters.

Kelly hefted her charge back onto her shoulder as Epsilon spotted her and came over. Ep-8's squadmates checked him out, trying to see if he was alright. His unconsciousness and lack of his major diving equipment was an understandable cause for concern.

"He's okay for now." Kelly said. "Without his gear I'll have to carry him. It'll be easier for me."

"What about his CBRN module?" The Staff pointed out. "His extended air tanks are missing too."

"I'll share mines with him."

There were a few hesitant looks between them. Ep-7 seemed the least convinced. "Can you actually hold your breath long enough for that?"

"My armor has its own air, enough to reach the surface. And even if it didn't, you'd be surprised what a Spartan can do, trooper."

"I wouldn't be surprised at all." Fred said as he jogged over. "Even considering the fact you managed to get close to Mach speed, your new personal best. Good job saving him." He gestured at Ep-8, causing the rest of the squad to understand what was missing. They each thanked her in turn for helping rescue their squadmate.

Kelly knew, however, that he wasn't really safe yet. None of them were. She turned to John who was making his way over to them and talking with the teams outside.

"Keep yourselves fastened out there. If your frames don't last, you'll need to find any possible handholds."

"No worries Chief, we can ride this one out." Charon-1 reassured despite the audible strain in his voice. "Everyone's in place. How much longer until we're back in communication's range of the Odyssey and Theseus?"

"We're already 140 meters up. The rigs won't pick up our signals until 180 meters where the radio disturbance will no longer be a factor. Another 40 and we should be clear to chat, then engage their harpoons at 200."

"What if we don't make 200?" Linda asked. "Can they do anymore than that?"

"Their limit is 220. At that point we're pushing it."

"Speaking of pushing it Chief!" Charon-1 shouted, more alert than before. "A few of my people are starting to blackout! It's getting hot up here and we're already leveling out! Might want to tell...rig crews to...fire ahead of...schedule..."

Charon-1's fading voice was drowned out by static.

"Blue-1 to Charon-1, if you can hear me, respond, over."

No answer came. Despite the Chief's repeated calls, the link remained down, as it did with multiple ODSTs presently taking refuge atop the command center.

"That doesn't sound good." Fred said worriedly. "Think they'll manage?"

"They'll have to. There's no other way aside from getting them boiled alive or losing this C&C entirely."

The Staff spoke up over the troubling silence. "It's no worries, sir. Everyone topside is as tough as they come. They'll make it."

But Kelly wasn't so sure. She considered whether his words were only what he wanted to believe or his own intuition. Helljumpers were as tough as they came aside from Spartans. That said, this was a watery hell rather than the fiery one they were used to and even she wasn't sure if she could survive what the men and women above them were enduring.

Just as Charon-1 had said, they were leveling out. Everyone could see it on their depth gauges where their speed was slowing dramatically. They were about to plateau much earlier than anyone either expected or wanted. There was only one option remaining now besides falling back to the seafloor.

At 175 meters of ascent the Chief sent the order over the comms to the Demolition Teams. He had delayed until the last of their speed was gone since what they were planning next could actually have the opposite effect of slowing their rise, that is if they did it wrong.

"All Demolition Teams, detonate your remaining C-12 on the bulkheads! Do it now!"

There was no vocal answer over the coms, merely a few delayed winks of green acknowledgement lights on the ODST roster.

Then the explosions began, distant at first then intimately close.

Everyone in the chamber held onto what they could find before an explosion went off beneath the main hatch. Follow-up implosions occurred less than a second later.

There was a feeling of upward momentum generated from the air that exploded out of the command center's southern and northern wings as well as part of the eastern wing, propelling the entire structure closer to the surface. However, the main hatch in their chamber had held. As a result, the room began to tilt off-balance.

The Chief didn't waste a moment. "Blue Team, switch to Plan B! Fred, on me! We'll have to pull the bulkhead open!"

"Copy!" Fred raced with him over to the hatch. Sliding down to either side, they braced their feet against the encompassing frame then dug their fingers into the central groove, causing pressurized water to shoot through the gap. They began to pull. As they did the streams of water quickly transformed into a geyser. Seawater poured in with enough strength to throw both Spartans back had they not anchored themselves in place. They continued to pull.

The Extraction Teams clung to nearby control stations, the support braces themselves or even spots on the flooring to resist what became a flash flood. Within the span of a few seconds the rapid inflows submerged a third of the room.

Kelly fought against the currents by maintaining her hold on the same support brace that Epsilon, Hotel and a few other squads were using. At the same time, she held Ep-8 in place so that he wasn't sucked away. That became the fate of Helljumpers that she saw lose their grips and were sent careening into the currents. A few crashed around, going limp from hard impacts.

After ten seconds the last air pocket in the chamber was filled, leaving nothing free of the water's embrace. Soon the equalizing pressure leveled them out with the rest of the center.

On her depth gauge Kelly watched the meters go by: '177m...178m...179m...'

The moment it hit 180 meters, John sent out a handshake signal to the communication's relays of the Odyssey and Theseus control stations. To everyone's relief, the signal went through.

Sergeant Major Rubello's voice came on. "This is Odyssey control station, I'm seeing a boiling sea over your entry vector, Blue-1. What's your situation down there?"

"Change of plans, Odyssey Control. We need both rigs to fire harpoons on us now. An EMP took out our booster frames so we've got have no other options."

Rubello didn't voice any concern at the news or the potentially risky idea whatsoever, replying with a simple "Roger that, we'll reel you in."

Captain Jean's voice joined the conversation ten seconds later. "Be advised Blue-1, Magnetic Harpoons inbound from Theseus and Odyssey. Should reach you in five, four, three, two, hold on!"

True to her word the underwater chamber shook once more. Anyone looking up got to see the emerging metal head of a harpoon the size of a Scorpion tank that pierced the hull and into the ceiling in the blink of an eye. The main spearhead proceeded to break apart like a blooming flower into secondary hooks that latched onto the interior.

There were over a dozen simultaneous thumps possessing a similar resonance across the C&C. A subsequent renewal of their upward movement resumed at an even faster rate.

The ODSTs that still could cheered over the comms, raising celebratory fists. Their celebration was cut short when tertiary detonations went off, ones unaffiliated with the harpoons.

Suddenly a massive conflagration of burning plasma and coolant rumbled through the two doors of the entry chamber, roughly bursting them out of the way to fill the outer-edges in an advancing wall of blue flames.

To Kelly it looked a lot like watching a solar flare coming from two directions to span towards the same target: them. "Chief!?"

"I see it. Blue-1 to Odyssey and Theseus, change of plans! Keep reeling in the C&C! We're going to abandon the structure to head for the surface, over!"

Again, Rubello was straight to the point despite the further risks involved. "We'll call your rides back from Icaria to come pick you up. Do what you have to, Master Chief."

"We've got your back, sir!" Jean agreed.

"Roger that! ODSTs, move out! Head for the surface!"

Troopers streamed down from their refuges around the room towards the entry hatch. Many carried their less lucid comrades who had floated around the room after having been battered about. John and Fred held the hatch open for all of them. They streamed through the decompression chamber then angled up along the blackened undersides of the structure to reach open sea. From there they were free to head for the surface.

As the wall of flaming materials came closer, Epsilon was one of the last squads to leave, going after Hotel and Apex.

Kelly followed. Linda went next. Fred maneuvered into the decompression chamber and held the hatch long enough for John to slip inside. Then the bulkhead closed shut, sealing away the sight of the aquatic inferno that had just reached the escape pods on the support braces.

Blue Team went out together, navigated out from under the rising bulk of the command center and headed upwards.

They were still 200 meters down in the darker depths. Nevertheless, they could see the lights of the ODSTs' apparatuses a good distance above them. They could also see the blinking lights along the silvery visages of more than a dozen steel harpoon lines running between the C&C and the surface.

They had reached the 150-meter mark when Kelly felt her charge beginning to gasp on her shoulders. His BDU's oxygen was running low. There was no way around it. She removed her CBRN module and inserted the rebreather onto the chin section of his helmet. Ep-8's ragged and short breaths became long and calm again.

She knew the rebreather would only grant him a little over a minute without the main air tanks of his harness. Hoping that her speed on land would translate to speed in water she began kicking her legs with greater ferocity. Her PSMA-92's thrusters responded with a rapid increase in output, propelling her faster than the rest of Blue Team.

Soon her harness was no longer able to move faster than her and she quickly became the one carrying it along regardless of its thrusters.

She reached the 50-meter mark, rocketing past the last of the ODSTs. At 25 meters she surpassed the frontmost group who were briefly alarmed at her velocity.

At 10 meters the waters around her became brighter. She fought aside every thought to push the muscles in her legs to their limits.

Kelly breached the surface, automatically switching off her reliance on her armor's own oxygen and causing the regular intake systems to kick in. She took a deep breath of the salty air and heard Ep-8's BDU start reacting similarly to allow active intakes. He was safe now, at least in terms of breathing.

She saw where the harpoon lines drew up from the water a few meters away to the oil rigs kilometers to her left and right. The lines were moving backwards as they continued raising the command center. She had to admit, if all UNSC personnel were as calm and collected under pressure as Rubello and Jean then this war would be a lot closer to ending in humanity's favor.

A minute later the first ODSTs appeared like emerging buoys. They began gathering above the waves in greater numbers. Much to her concern, many of them floated face-up and face-down in the water. While they were probably still alive the chances of them being affected by the rapid ascent was high. She had even risked the same fate for Ep-8 just to get him to the air he needed.

Blue Team arrived last. The three Spartans waded around, working with other Helljumpers to check troopers floating motionlessly about. They secured them with safety tethers connected to conscious ODSTs to ensure they didn't sink away.

Then, like an impossibly massive whale leaping out of the water, the C&C rose from the depths, the harpoons dragging up its three bulbous sections to make it float on the surface a short stretch away. While fires still raged along its sides there was no sign of them having spread to the top. But there was also no sign of any movement atop the structures save the water that rushed off the hull.

Kelly maintained her hold on her unconscious cargo. Amidst waiting for their pick-up, she remembered the object she had found with him. She took it from her utility belt and held it out in front of her. It was a dark rock with no particularly interesting details about it that could answer her question as to why he had kept holding on. She lifted it towards the afternoon sun to check for any kind of unique features. There were none at first. Then she rotated it. As she did, she saw a squadron of six Albatrosses descending through the skies above towards their location. At the same time the sunlight highlighted the faintest etching on the rock. She was able to make out a smiling, winking caricature of a face next to a few words.

'A rock from Harvest as promised. They don't get much farther from Earth than this, kiddo. Oh, and make sure to tell your mom not to throw this away. You know how she gets whenever you've got too many toys lying around. Happy Birthday, D. Keep holding down the fort for me. Love you, be seeing you real soon. - Dad.'

Evadere - Escape


	56. Battle of Actium - Chapter 18 (Pomiferum faciens)

Chapter 18 – Pomiferum faciens

(7th Cycle, 84 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

:********:

Despite his years of discipline, R'tas found it nearly impossible to focus on the actual subject of his dawn meditation. He was meant to be considering the potentiality of the mission's success, the one he was sent here to carry out. Then an injunction would come against that focus, dividing it into three mental routes that proved difficult to follow. That was because they were all his mission.

At the outset of the battle, Supreme Commander Vadumee had dispatched his unit to this city for three distinct purposes.

The first was to spy on the actions of the 2nd Fleet of Theophanic Revelation. From the very start, R'tas had detected a feeling of mistrust between Thel and Niccoramee just by the way he spoke of his fellow commander during the briefing aboard the Particular Justice. That mistrust had to be well warranted if it aroused the displeasure of one such as his fleet commander. So far it was warranted. The failure of Niccoramee to send any naval support whatsoever to defend the eastern cities, aside from a few Seraph squadrons, was an outright dereliction of duty. That wasn't to even mention the great dishonor of not defending the place where a Holy One resided, even at the consistent pleading of Field Marshall Duracomee. If it wasn't detestable to leave a prophet in such a position as to be endangered by humans then he didn't know what was.

At most he could speak for the Field Marshall's honor. Duracomee was putting his best efforts into organizing the final defense of the city's remaining tier. Truly, how could he hope to hold against three human destroyers supporting heavy contingents of enemy armor, the most R'tas had personally ever seen. Even the armored elements he'd encountered on their worlds of Estuary and Miridem weren't so sizable as the one about to lay siege to their positions. Hopefully they held long enough for reinforcements to arrive from the west, because certainly no help would come from the east. It was almost saddening that the proud Field Marshall had to go behind his own commanding officer's back to contact Thel for aide. What other course was there to take except to be overrun? Thankfully Thel had agreed to send help once the situation in the west was resolved.

R'tas' next mission was of course to assist in the elimination of the humans' leadership. That was going fairly well, at least until...

He felt himself again beginning to struggle against the memory of his failure. As if it were happening again, he could see viscerally the target on the other end of his beam rifle toppling back as the weapon itself came apart in his hands. He remembered ducking under the second shot of a Demon with a sniper, throwing himself off the building and running with Zuka. Running to escape. Withdraw was the word he preferred. However, his honor would not allow him to do so without inflicting its tormenting ire on his already conflicted conscience.

Did he really withdraw?

His excuse was that they would contend with the Demons when they were more capable of killing them. That said, he found that he had to use that excuse to satisfy himself more than Zuka's heated blood.

Facing the answer meant contending with something he was not used to facing, at least not with humans.

Although he loathed to admit it, he feared them, the Demons.

He could freshly recall what they had done to Zotamee's contingents on Miridem, how they so easily defeated foes that it would take far more of the customarily weaker humans to stop. On that roof, he saw himself dying without the glory he sought, the glory of fighting and if necessary, dying for the holiness of the Gods against those that would so defile their gifts without a thought for reverence or repentance. And it was that refusal to do anything that would dishonor him before the Gods that led him to sin against them.

He knew that Demon with the sniper would have killed him long before he ever got close enough to deal the damage he wished in close quarters. So, he had fled like a coward.

The thought wouldn't leave him alone that he could have still held his ground, fought and died with honor. But would it really be honorable to simply die without ever having so much as a chance to see said enemy before he perished? Was that really honorable, or simply unfortunate? He didn't know which. It was that conflict between what he knew to be tactically smart and what he knew to be right that had raged within him for the last two days. It acted out in the background of each and every thought, spreading and influencing them like a flame until all he could think of was how he had fled.

That suffering held a close relation to his final mission and purpose, to kill the Demons. Known by their own as 'Spartans', the creatures had been the primary focus of his commanding officer and himself in coming here.

Thel initially wanted the Shadows to counter the augmented humans here after seeing their actions on Miridem. Later, at recognizing the failure of Niccoramee to effectively crush the holdouts in the northern continent, his First Blade Officer had the foresight to request that the old command center Duracomee had used earlier in the battle be instead implored for a trap. Undoubtedly the Demons would seek after targets of interest and such was their plan to play to their taste for blood. They came to an agreement with Duracomee to move the Minister of Iconography from the command center and into a secretive location in the 3rd Tier. Then they had the facility hooked to squadrons of Seraphs to be sea-lifted over to a hydrothermal vent field. From there they would make it so that the prophet's broadcasts would seemingly originate from the center to lure in their anticipated guests. Rather than plant an anti-matter charge near the core as R'tas himself had so unironically suggested, his commander decided on what he referred to as a more 'absolute' approach. They would blow select portions of the aquatic structures to corner and kill the Demons with explosive decompressions, or draw them close enough to the core for its eventual destruction to finish the job.

The operation had taken place yesterday. It was now the dawn of a new day and he had yet to hear of how it had unfolded.

Something, however, made him suspect that the plan hadn't succeeded. The delay in any information about it from his First Blade Officer was a factor. Then again, he felt his lack of faith in the plan tied to three further factors. One was his belief that his commander made a mistake in not simply using an anti-matter charge to kill the Demons on their arrival. Another was his suspicion that the Demons could not be killed so easily, that they were somehow closer than most others to being 'immortal' as a few in the Covenant believed. The final factor was that he hoped they were still alive. The shame he had endured during the first day of their invasion was too much of a burden to carry any further. He wanted the aliens to pay for their actions in causing him to dishonor himself. He desired to confront them, knowing that killing one or more up close would do well to sate his thirst for a more honorable fight.

Footsteps made him open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was the startled face of an Unggoy. It wore a customary gas tank but was dressed in an orange tunic wrapped around most of its torso. The moment it saw him it froze in place. The creature must have come over to investigate after seeing him sitting in place for so long with his helmet lying in his lap.

R'tas blinked.

It was enough to cause the deacon to yelp. It ran in the opposite direction down one of the aisles of bookshelves lining this floor of what was believed to be a human library of antiquities. There it joined the dozens of other Unggoy deacons and Huragok moving around the aisles of shelves. The shelves themselves were occupied with individual, rectangular collections of white parchment on which the humans' various languages were written. Deacons waddled through the lower scroll collections to investigate the pages of archaic parchment. So too were the Huragok floating above them that searched those on the upper shelves, scanning the contents of the pages. They were the Minister of Iconography's Research and Inquisition Group. They were here upon the prophet's request to Duracomee that they be allowed to investigate repositories of information...under R'tas' protection.

He wasn't exactly enthused when his commanding officer informed Zuka and himself the evening prior that they were being assigned to protect this group. There were more 'engaging' matters they could be invested in such as joining the rest of their team conducting reconnaissance across the city. Nevertheless, orders were orders.

Apparently, the minister was after any and all data in this city which could potentially lead them to the single greatest discovery of the war: the location of the human homeworld. Whereas others sought to capture their ships or raid their bases for such information, the minister was of the belief that the truth could be more easily gleamed in their civilian population centers such as this one. His search was purportedly part of a joint effort between the Ministry of Resolution under the direction of the Hierarchs and the Ministry of Relic Safety, the latter of which he just so happened to be the head minister of. Their goal was to use the rare opportunities where the Covenant spared human population centers for reliquary interdiction assignments, such as the massive one being undertaken on Actium, to search for viable information on more human worlds.

R'tas was still skeptical as to why the humans would risk having a centralized location for data collection such as this one which made it the perfect target. Furthermore, he was suspicious of the prophet himself. Truthfully, the San'Shyuum were a mystic and highly esteemed species. However, they were also known for harboring their own machinations. In their part of the Covenant, faith was always just downstream from politics rather than vice versa as it should be. There could be any number of secret agreements and understandings at work in the background of this situation. Moreover, he was uncertain if the minister had a personal agenda here. He seemed to have a genuine interest in humanity, as if he wanted to know something more about them than what was already settled in fact: that they were a disgraceful race worthy of as many orbital bombardments as it required to remove said disgrace. R'tas got the opposite impression whenever he encountered the Huragok and Unggoy searching through the rectangular scrolls on subject-matter he felt had no connection to their stated objective, such as on human culture. Perhaps there was a chance they would find what they were after in those subjects. Still, he had his doubts about exactly what their true intentions were.

That alone irritated him, which was why it was a good thing that the deacon had chosen to flee from him when he opened his eyes. He might have skewered the poor creature on his energy sword right then and there. He didn't take kindly to the possibility that they were wasting his time here investigating matters of little if any relevance or beneficence to the war.

With his meditative state soundly broken, not that he was all that focused to begin with, he slid his helmet back on and rose to his feet. He momentarily forgot the weight on his back and remembered that it was his beam rifle, a replacement for his original.

His plasma rifle was also still in place on his thigh bracer. At least no one had tried their hand at toying with him by taking away his weapons, not that he would have let them since he would have heard anyone coming.

On the matter of hearing, he could hear the full, wrathful tirade of a Sangheili whose voice he knew well. He turned to the railings of the circular balcony he was on to look down at the ground floor 10 stories below.

Zuka was there near the front doors berating a group of four very petrified Deacons standing next to a broken glass painting. It looked like they had accidentally dropped it while having the grave misfortune of doing so on his partner's watch. He was towering over and glowering at them through his red visor, roaring orders while occasionally growling. He repeatedly pointed to the painting and then to the doors.

The four Unggoy shakily began extracting the shards of glass and placing them onto the main painting. Once they were finished, they grabbed the four corners of the aged image and left for the area outside in a much more cautious manner.

Zuka's hands remained balled into fists at his side until they were well out of sight.

It was obvious to R'tas that he wasn't the only one mildly irritated at their current posting. 'Mildly' was likely too mild a description. It was more like inwardly outraged, so much so that they were required to hold that rage in check. He had sought to handle his frustrations through meditation, for all the good it had done him. Zuka, on the other hand, seemed to have the right idea. He had just unleashed everything on those Unggoy without necessarily killing any, an enormous show of restraint for a Sangheili his junior. Meanwhile, his superior was just about to decapitate a deacon for the crime of interrupting a meditation that, from the start, was only making him angrier.

"Zuka." R'tas called down. He didn't have to shout. The library was little more than a series of 10 levels all designed around an octagonal interior space leading down to a marbled, ground floor. The architecture amplified his voice into an echo loud enough to be heard over the commotion of the Deacons and Huragok working on every other level.

Zuka heard and looked up to where he was standing. He spoke in a markedly more reserved tone than the one he had used on the Unggoy mere seconds ago. "Ah, yes, brother, you've asked for me?"

"Any sign of Nerulee yet?"

"You mean our anointed and glorious First Blade Officer who, in all his wisdom, sent us here to find the most diligent way to hang ourselves?"

R'tas grimaced at the sarcastic note in his voice likely overflowing from their conversation a whole unit ago. "...Yes."

"Well, no. He isn't. And I would suspect he would tell us over our communication link if he did and I would be able to see his dropship from here. Why do you think I'm down here in the first place?"

"I would wager it was to find some way to distract yourself while getting a good view of the landing area outside."

"Or to find a good rope."

"If you're so enthusiastic then what about your energy garotte?"

"No thanks." Zuka shook his head, sighing. "I have to hold that in place. With a good rope I can let gravity and weight do the work for me."

"Do not discharge yourself until we have completed our mission here, brother. Then you have my blessing to do what seems best to you."

"Do I really need your blessing?"

"Yes. To simply remove yourself at a time when your Covenant needs your strength will give you nothing but a dishonorable demise."

"There's that manipulation again." Zuka laughed under his breath then huffed as he saw that his partner had not entertained his humor. "My apologies, I meant 'interpretation'."

"One cannot interpret damnation. They can only feel it."

"Not so. It depends on what you define as 'damnation'."

"And now who's the one manipulating scripture?"

"Sorry, my apologies once again. I've been around you too long."

"Indeed, you have." R'tas shifted his attention back to his own floor of the 10th level. Beyond the shelves, the passing deacons and flotillas of huragok. he saw the windows that formatted the walls.

Outside, the city was still in the blueish haze of early dawn. There were a few Phantom dropships humming about the skies. Past that he could see the western firmament and, silhouetted against the clouds, two human destroyers. The disgusting craft dominated the air. Those, he knew, would be their greatest problem if one or even both came to hover over them during the battle to come.

Then he saw a Phantom fly across the foliage of tall buildings from the west of the library. It crested over the structure opposite theirs and swooped down, the gentle whine of its engines growing closer.

A voice spoke over their comms. "Vadumee, Zamamee, you have a new assignment. Come out to the pad. I'll pick you up from there."

R'tas recognized it as belonging to the leader of his unit, First Blade Officer Utana Nerulee. It was a relief to hear, meaning by extension that their job here was finished. "We are on our way, leader. Zuka, let's go."

"Might I remind you that you're the one whose all the way up there." Zuka chortled.

R'tas grabbed the balcony railing in front of him and vaulted over it. He kept his legs straight and arms raised as he fell a full ten stories before his descent was slowed by the upwards propulsion of a portable gravity lift lying on the ground floor. It propelled him back a small distance into the air so that he landed softly next to Zuka. He proceeded to calmly walk out the doors without giving his partner a second thought.

With a sarcastic chortle, he followed.

The two came onto the outside balcony which lay at the junction between the library of antiquities itself and the other structure below that, from its various exhibitions, proved to be a museum of sorts.

At the other end of the balcony was a landing pad with several consecutive staircases leading to the top. The Phantom was slowly descending onto the surface. After touching down, its drop bay opened to offload a squad of four Sangheili minors. The team briefly stopped to stand in awe of him and Zuka. Then an orange-armored Major came down and barked orders for them to move forward. They sprinted past the two Sangheili, giving them a respectable distance. As the Major passed by, he gave a nod to the two special operators before leading his team inside the library.

"Our replacements?" Zuka asked.

"Not our concern."

From the depths of the cargo bay, R'tas made out the darkened armor and red visor of a fellow Silent Shadow. It was Nerulee. With a hand he ushered them onward. They carried on up the stairs and into the bay, grasping the overhead handles to stay in place. Then the Phantom took to the air. However, instead of closing the bay, it opened the other side as well so that the morning air was allowed in freely. It also permitted the faint morning light that peeled away the darkness from around Nerulee, making him appear more silver than dark. He looked preoccupied with the city as they passed over it, too preoccupied to even address them once they'd come aboard.

R'tas traced his attention down to the streets below. Hundreds of Unggoy, Kig-Yar and Sangheili were setting up plasma cannon emplacements at the ends of street-corners, shades atop buildings and various vehicles in alleyways for rapid ambush deployments. It was preparation for the final defense of the city against the humans, as per the order of Duracomee. Not a centimeter of the 3rd Tier was being left undefended, not a street without some contingent hidden in a sewer or avenue, ready to pounce at their superior's order.

The question silently resting before the Silent Shadows now was the nature of their own superior's orders, of which R'tas was the first to ask. "What is required of us?"

"Your purpose is of the upmost importance so take heed." Nerulee finally turned to them both, causing them to reflexively stand at attention. "You will both act as secret escorts of the Minister of Iconography and protect him as an overwatch team while he prepares for his final prayer later today. You will oversee his safety, watch for and eliminate any suspicious activity should any be found."

It was straight forward, or at least the first part was. Something about the last of his instructions didn't sit well with R'tas and it was ultimately Zuka that gave that unease a voice.

"Does it matter where we find that suspicion? Or will we be showing prejudice?"

"Your sole concern should be the protection of the minister." Nerulee pointed down to the throngs below. "The forces here are tense among each other, namely the lesser species after what occurred during the first day of the invasion. Should any suspicious activity arise that could endanger the life of the minister, you are to target it."

It was an open-ended requirement, and R'tas didn't find it easing at all. Still, to confirm that it was what he thought it might be he decided to press the matter. "What if we should find the activities of a Sangheili to be suspicious? Certainly, our kind are more loyal than any to the Covenant. That said, is it not feasible to keep an eye out for 'any' and 'all' activity that catches our eyes?"

"Your fellow Sangheili are less likely to betray our cause, that is true. Nevertheless, it is necessary that should any threat appear in any form, you are to address it. The minister's life is of the greatest priority. Is that understood?"

R'tas didn't understand, mostly because he didn't want to. The idea that any of his kin would ever be so vile in their lack of conviction as to bring direct harm to a prophet was almost unthinkable. The premise by itself was a heretical sin of the unforgivable caliber. Yet somehow it was about to be the model standard of their next mission, and it prompted him to ask another question. "What about his contingent of Honor Guards? Will they not be enough on their own?"

"While they are attached to him, they can only provide immediate, short-range protection. You will provide the long-range element as his vanguard."

Yet another answer, yet again not the one he was looking for. He felt that something wasn't being said on the part of Nerulee for whatever reason he wished to keep hidden. R'tas thought he knew exactly what that reason was and went straight for its jugular. "And how did the events of yesterday's mission transpire?"

Although it wasn't overt, there was a perceptible change in Nerulee's stance, a simple straightening of the feet with the rest of his body and a tightening of his grasp on the overhead handle.

"It was a success. The Demons are sure to have perished in the depths. I assured as much since I made it so that my face was the last they ever saw and my words the last they would ever hear. Their presence will not be a source of trouble in this matter."

With that last sentence Nerulee had counter-moved, striking the silent secondary question that R'tas had stealthily laid beneath the first. If the Demons were not a concern, at least according to Nerulee, then surely there was nothing serious to worry about. That was the impression that he wanted to purvey at most. While he had spoken those words with sufficient firmness to sway any other subordinate, R'tas was not so easily convinced. His earlier encounter kept him keenly aware of just how capable the Demons were. Judging by their high capacity to kill, the chances were equally high that they were capable of surviving much.

"And you're certain they perished?" Zuka asked, sounding even less convinced. "Were there any bodies recovered to confirm that it was so?"

"For one who professes faith in the Gods you certainly show none in the face of those who carry out their will." Nerulee said.

"That is only when I can confirm they are carrying out that will."

Nerulee stared at him. "Does truth not abide?"

"I am not one of those psychopathic and overly idealistic monks of Ontom." Zuka shot back, aware of what the officer was insultingly insinuating. "But where is your evidence that you have executed their will and accomplished what we were after, commander?"

"You have the evidence of my word and it is sound-enough doctrine by itself for you to believe. Are there any further questions, Third Blade Officer Zamamee?"

Zuka glanced over at R'tas who quietly shook his head. With a sigh, Zuka turned away from his commander in a show of submission. "I...have faith that your word is true, First Blade Officer Nerulee."

He had said that last part with a subtle hint of ingeniousness, not sufficient for one such as Nerulee to pick up on as he turned away towards the cockpit. "Good. We will arrive at our destination shortly. You will be provided with thruster packs for the task appointed to you."

"We will do as is required of our station." R'tas said.

Nerulee turned to Zuka. The Sangheili looked away towards the streets. He finally breathed out the end of the benediction. "...All without exception..."

"Indeed."

In the silence that followed, Zuka opened a private comm-channel to R'tas. "What did I tell you? He already fancies himself a God, calling his own words 'doctrine'."

"Indeed, he does." He replied sarcastically. "May we all become so godly as we walk the path. Let us hope his word holds firm...for both our sakes."

:********:

The Minister of Iconography had many names and titles for his various positions. Of course, there was his ministerial position as head of the Ministry of Relic Safety. Then there was his secondary title 'Prophet of Sanctity' which was more often reserved for his religious duties like the one he was soon to perform today. But Duracomee was one of the few to know of his real name; Avuum Rezzic. Knowing a prophet's real name came with profound revelations that few Sangheili were privy to. For one, it made them seem much more...mortal than they would otherwise appear under the esteem of their plenteous titles, and it was that evident mortality that now worried him to no end.

For the last several minutes of time their conversation had gone nowhere. No matter what he tried, the San'Shyuum simply wasn't accepting any of his logic. So, to convince him he attempted a different tactic.

"Certainly, my prophet, the Gods will favor you in your undertaking no matter where you go. Even if you should travel to a location out of the city, more secure than this, the Gods will hear your prayer. Once again, I must recommend that you complete your duties in the safety of the interior. My Supreme Commander would be more than able to ensure your protection there, which is something I cannot ensure despite all my best efforts to make such provision. This place will soon become a battlefield, and we do not know what our fate will be. However, those that came before us have received your petitions even in this imperfect city, so surely they will hear you wherever you go."

The Minister's graying and wrinkled face looked unamused, regardless of the occasional static that flickered across his digital frame projected over the holo-pedestal. Almost in defiance of the limiting weight of his headpiece, he leaned forward and held out a hand in a reasoning gesture. "You do not understand, do you Duracomee. I can see where the faults of your own intentions lie because I was blessed with such discernment for this task." He sighed and leaned back in his hovering throne. "By your own reasoning, I must remain present in this city. It is my presence that enables the Gods to ignore the filth of this place and thereby accept my petitions. Should I leave they would be beholden to its full detestable nature and my work of sanctification would be left unfinished, if not completely undone. My righteousness must stand in for that nature so as not to offend the sensitivities of the divine."

Duracomee inwardly scolded himself for thinking he could win a philosophical argument with a San'Shyuum. His kind were often better suited for frontline combat rather than scriptural debates to begin with. That was how the Covenant was initially structured, the San'Shyuum leading them along the path through discernment of the divine scriptures and relics while the Sangheili acted as their trusted protectors. Still, that very same setup was being thrown on its head. Now here was a San'Shyuum arguing for why he should stay on the frontlines while a Sangheili was trying to keep him out of harm's way. He sought to rectify that error before it became something much worse. Then again, he didn't know how.

He searched for the right words. "My Prophet, surely you can understand that there is a risk to your life here, a grave one. There is every chance the humans may drive into our ranks with the fury of their ships that are visible even from here." For emphasis, he pointed out the glass window of the top floor of the skyscraper he was using towards the western skies. At the end of his pointing finger were the two destroyers, both of which were his greatest worries.

But the sight of them did not perturb the intended observer. Instead, Rezzic looked vaguely amused between the ships and Duracomee. "My-my, Field Marshall, what prompts your lack of faith in divine providence, to doubt that those who are above all will see to it that their work is not undermined before them?"

It was a loaded question. Duracomee knew if he answered it wrong the prophet could have him effectively removed from his duty with a single word. He bowed respectfully before him, something he found himself doing a lot more often than he desired. "I do believe that the Gods will grant us the victory we seek. My worry, however, is that my Supreme Commander will not provide us the required resources to make such a victory less costly to attain on the part of my contingents."

Out of the upper corner of his periphery he saw Rezzic's expression harden from vague amusement to subdued disapproval. "Rise, Field Marshall."

Duracomee did so, slowly. Rezzic took a moment to quietly consider something.

"Your Supreme Commander Niccoramee does not understand many things of our situation here...many things." His gaze flitted up to lock with Duracomee's. "However, we do not require his assistance to receive godly favor. I promise you there will be a time and place to address Niccoramee's actions...there will be a reckoning."

There was a trace of anger in his tone. It made Duracomee inwardly shiver and wonder whether his superior would actually face retribution for abandoning his duties as he had thus far. "I see."

"Do you? See to it then that you do not doubt. Faith is what will please our Gods in this hour, and it will be what guarantees us the victory if we do not waver. I will pray fervently for our triumph during the ceremony. I charge you with this, Field Marshall." He raised a robed hand to point at him, his hardened expression giving way to a genuine earnestness. "You protect this city while I protect your faith. I will do all in my power to ensure my part if you do all that is in yours to ensure your part. Is that understood?"

Duracomee gave a graceful bow of his head. "I will have faith, my prophet."

"Good. I shall depart for now. See to your duties diligently as I see to my own."

"...I will."

The prophet's image flickered off.

Duracomee stood there for a long while, his mind caught on the darkening lights of the holo-pedestal.

Faith. The word itself and the glyph attached to it journeyed through his mind: a simple circle with an arc running through its center with two dots at either end of the arc and a final dot at the very center of the bisection. It was an understandable glyph and easy to write, but not so easy to learn, and even less so to practice.

Could he really have faith? He asked himself that question when he looked out the window and saw only the enemy destroyers with not a single battlecruiser to contest them. There was likely no help to come soon either. Their only real hope was that Supreme Commander Vadumee gained a swift victory in the west and came to the east to offer reinforcements. Aside from that, they would truly require divine intervention to win here, or perhaps the will of the prophets made manifest.

That reminded him of his next meeting. He tapped a sequence of symbols floating around the rim of his holo-pedestal. Shortly thereafter, the hale was accepted and the image of a Silent Shadow appeared.

"First Blade Nerulee, are your Shadows now in place?"

Nerulee gave a short bow. "My lookouts are in position. They await any need to engage should one arise."

Duracomee nodded, feeling that at least one more thing was going the way he intended. "Good. See to it that the rest of your Shadows are also in place before the meeting begins. Regardless of the success of your operation against the Demons, there are many other threats to concern ourselves with."

"None of which should be a match for my unit." Nerulee asserted. "They are more than capable of seeing through any devious schemes no matter their source and will address it with precise prejudice."

"Good. Remain prepared. If this matter goes the way we need it to then this will be the beginning of our counteroffensive against the humans. I pray that the Gods' strength be with you." Duracomee nodded off to him. After Nerulee gave his salutations his image winked off.

Duracomee watched the holo-pedestal's low hum begin to quiet along with its lights that slowly dimmed. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that in some way his own remaining time would be just like those lights, fading.

Rezzic's words echoed in his mind, an assurance that there would be a reckoning. There likely would be. Yet depending on his own actions today he could soon find himself on the receiving end of it.

He thought back to a time when Niccoramee was not so caught up in himself and his own endeavors, when he was much more committed to the cause and needs of the Covenant no matter the front. He had been a proud commander of his fleet, and Duracomee a proud commander of his legions on the ground. Now, however, he had drifted from that conviction. That pride was blinding him to what needed to be done here, and if he wasn't careful, it would consume them all. Duracomee just wished he knew what he had found to be of such great importance in the east that it prompted his betrayal of that which he had once defended.

Then Niccoramee's guarantee flashed through his mind, one where he promised that swift justice would be carried out against his Field Marshall should he fail to protect the prophet. Funnily enough, in a dementedly sarcastic sense, Niccoramee was doing everything in his power to ensure that became less of an impossibility and more of a potential reality.

How would it come? Justice by the hands of the Gods, by that of the humans, or his own? All three had been laid out to him as possible punishments and only one sounded honorable. No matter which way he looked at it the future of his own soul was on the line along with that of every soul under his command. The consequences of his success or failure here would not only be long-lasting but eternal, unceasing, unending.

He decided it was best not to allow his thoughts to go down such dark routes before the beginning of a task, especially one with such magnitude as was before him. However, even as he left the room to attend to the final preparations that needed to be made, his mind remained locked on that one word: reckoning. The only question that really remained thereafter was whether it would be in his favor.

Pomiferum faciens - Yielding


	57. Battle of Actium - Chapter 19 (Determinatio)

Chapter 19 – Determinatio

May 10th, 2545 (07:23 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Ano Liosia, Eden Mall

:********:

Duncan felt sleep slowly lift off of him like a heavy blanket. He slowly blinked away the last embers of slumber from his crusty eyes.

He was somewhere well-lit. At first things came to him as obscure shapes. Then as his hazy vision cleared, he became more acutely aware of his surroundings. The moment he did he winced as the pulsing pain in the back of his head finally registered.

He glanced around.

The room he was in was large, almost like an auditorium by the way the roof slanted upwards. Spotting the blue and blocky logo of the car manufacturing company 'HuCiv' made him reconsider his previous deduction. As did the plenteous car presentation pedestals across the floor. He counted around 30 of them in rows of 10. Less than a third actually showcased the compact and high-volume Genet coupes and sloped Fossa sedans that the company was known for. The rest were occupied.

Medical personnel standing on them were using stretchers as operating tables, conducting tests on the unconscious and occasionally conscious men and women of the UNSC laid before them. A few utilized scalpels to cut open damaged body parts in attending to internal factors while others stitched incision sites closed. Some were holding manual respirators to the faces of those in their charge while assistants sterilized and treated plasma burns.

The area around the pedestals was predominantly occupied with more stretchers on which lay even more UNSC personnel, hundreds that were either asleep or awake, groaning in pain and complaining from their recent treatments or lack thereof.

After taking a closer look, Duncan realized that he recognized many of the faces. They were fellow troopers from Bravo Company. Even though their armor was removed, a good number still wore the black shirt of ODST fatigues which singled them out from those wearing Marine and Army equivalents.

He counted close to half of Bravo's remaining contingent being present in what he assumed to be a make-shift field hospital. It was a sobering sight to see so many of his fellow Helljumpers, toughened and hardened as they were, simply lying on mobile stretchers hooked up to IVs and heart monitors. There were several cylindrical chambers around the room. ODSTs were being wheeled into and out of them by medics. He could see dozens of them sitting on the other side of the portholes. Those had to be hyperbaric chambers, meaning everyone on the inside were enduring recompression treatment for decompression sickness. What was worse was that he was apparently one of them, or had been. He lay in a stretcher of his own and was dressed only in his base fatigues. Everything else, his armor, diving apparatus and SMG were nowhere to be found.

His memories didn't come rushing back at the pace he wanted but instead came to him piece by piece.

He'd been in that Covenant C&C running with the rest of Epsilon. Then without warning he was thrown clear of the hallway and down a separate passage. There was water and fire then nothing at all.

Something must have knocked him out. That would explain the pain in the back of his head that kept him from falling prey to the exhaustion tugging at his eyes. It was getting worse every second. He distracted himself from it in noticing that his stretcher was part of a row setup against one of the walls. He used his elbows to drag himself along until he could prop his back against the wall. The hard surface was admittedly better than the equally rough fabric he'd been lying on for who even knew how long.

However, as he stopped, he felt something lying on the stretcher with him. He picked it up and examined it.

It was his Harvest rock.

He remembered feeling something slip out of his pocket back onboard that C&C. Seeing that he still had it gave him some relief. He turned it in his hand and felt more secure upon seeing that his dad's faint message from all those years ago was still intact. But he knew that he couldn't have held onto it the entire time. Someone would have to have gotten hold of it and purposefully brought it back to him.

To try and answer the question of who it might have been he chose to finally take stock of who was around him. Renni lay asleep on a stretcher to his left and Rico and Zack to his right. They were all relieved of their gear and left in their regular fatigues. Their expressions ranged from suppressed discomfort to visible muscle spasms that made them flinch in the gray area between being asleep and awake.

He must have been the first to wake up, at least among the four of them. He did a quick check of his own being for any DCS symptoms. His legs were fine. So were his arms. However, there was a fiery, itching sensation on his chest that felt a lot like ant bites. Pulling up his shirt, he found the skin on his breast was an angry red like a bad sunburn. A little tentative prodding with his fingers produced a flaming pain that fortunately dissipated once he stopped poking around. It was a rash, an ugly one at that, which suggested whoever had carried him had made a speedy ascent to the surface.

The exposure to the severe undersea pressure had caused the nitrogen stored in his body to bubble after he had resurfaced too fast, creating embolisms. The medics here must have given him outgassing treatment to release the pockets of nitrogen in his tissues and blood vessels concentrated around his upper body. Just a glimpse at his condition would tell anyone he had gotten off easy compared to most others here. Many were possibly suffering from joint pain, worse rashes or even temporary paralysis. None of them appeared to be dead, though death in their condition was a possibility. Had he suffered any severe embolisms in his own pulmonary veins or aorta then that would've been the end for him. Still, it looked like he had barely avoided such a fate.

He rolled his shirt back down and threw his legs over the side of his stretcher, wincing at the pain that stemmed from the soreness in his muscles. He'd need to work those out before he could get up and find his gear, or anyone else.

As he was stretching his right arm with his left, he spotted Nova and the Staff entering through one of the room's revolving doors. Unlike him, they were still fully decked in their BDUs and had their weapons on their back harnesses. They looked around, searching the rows of patients and medics. Duncan flexed his arm enough to raise it and waved around to get their attention.

The two depolarized their visors as they walked to the disabled elements of the squad. The Staff stopped to check over Renni, nodding at Duncan then moving off to Zack and Rico. Nova sat down beside Duncan's stretcher with her BR acting like a cane. A knowing grin flashed across her face. "How're you feeling, Irish?"

Duncan returned the grin with a bit more strain. "I'm alive." He croaked. "That's about the only good thing I can say."

"Symptoms?"

"Rash, a bad one on my chest."

"How bad?"

"Ever been bitten by fire ants? Well, it's a lot like that except if you went to sleep and decided to use their nest as a body pillow."

"Sounds rough." She said then switched to a motherly tone. "Need me to rub it for you, sweaty?"

Duncan raised a weary brow at her.

She laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "Just kidding, I'll leave that to Erica."

He sighed explosively at her playfulness then winced at the pain that doing so brought him.

"Try not to move too much or breathe in too deeply. That rash will have to take time to heel." She glanced over at the Staff who had finished his own examination of Rico to move on to Zack. "Which means you'll be staying here."

The pain Duncan felt immediately subsided when he heard those words. He sat straighter and tried to pull himself onto his feet but Nova rested a hand on his shoulder to force him back down. "Hey, what did I just say? Try not to move, got it?"

"We're about to head into the 3rd Tier, right? We're going to finish capturing the city, and I'll be there when we do."

He made a second attempt at getting up. Again, she stopped him. "No. We're going. You're staying here."

"I can fight."

"No, you can't."

"I said I can do it."

"No, you can't." She insisted more strongly, pushing down his third attempt to get up. Duncan kept resisting her regardless.

"What, you think you can stop me?"

Nova's brow twitched in irritation. She let him go, allowed him to try getting up from a squat then, when he was almost there, reached forward and flicked him square in the chest. His eyes bulged in their sockets and he gave raspy coughs from the resulting surge of pain that wracked his upper body. He tumbled back onto his stretcher, landing hard on his backside.

Slowly recovering from his coughing fits he saw Nova glowering down at him. "No...you can't. I just flicked you and you're already half-dead. Could you imagine if you actually took a plasma bolt to the chest?"

His coughing turned to raspy laughter as he shook his head. "With this pain you might as well have hit me with plasma. It probably feels the same and yet..." He grunted at his renewed efforts in pushing his legs to extend. At halfway he wobbled slightly and relied on the wall to pull himself the rest of the way to a standing position. He grinned defiantly back at her.

Nova's eyes narrowed to annoyed slits as she sized him up. "You're a stubborn one, aren't you?"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It isn't."

They turned to the Staff as he arrived after finishing his check-up with Zack. "You brought him up to speed?"

"No sir." Nova said. "He's being too thick-headed for me to explain anything."

The Staff nodded and focused on the squad's tech specialist. "We thought we lost you back there, Ep-8. Spartan 087 is the only reason you're still around. She saved you from that hallway you fell into then brought you back up. Everything went to hell after that as I'm sure you've seen. While no one's died, close to half of Bravo has been left incapacitated by decompression sickness. We won't be fully operational as a company for some time. I came to see who we could salvage from our own casualties. Renni, Zack and Rico are too badly out of commission so there's no going out for them on this run. What's your situation?

"Doing fine sir, ready to get back on it."

"Are you?"

Duncan felt the pain in his chest turn from a sharp sting to a dull throb in his pectorals that radiated out across his body in tandem with his heartbeat. He unconsciously clenched his jaw against the sensations. "I can manage."

Seeking a second opinion, the Staff turned to Nova who shook her head at the notion. "I wouldn't advise having him tag along, sir."

The Staff briefly searched between the two to see which one was giving him the best answer. He refocused on Duncan at length. "Answer this for me, Irish. Can you assure me that your presence on this mission will not be an operational hazard?"

"Sir?"

"Think you'll get anyone else killed?"

Duncan shifted his jaw around but couldn't bring himself to say anything. He had a response. He just didn't know if it was the right one or even the most honest for that matter.

"Your BDU should be with everyone else's on the opposite side of the room, locker row B." The Staff said, turning and walking away. "We'll be outside near the front with Warrant Officer Ludowski's Convoy-10. You've got five minutes. Only come if you can give me a good answer."

Nova gave him a final 'don't be an idiot' look then went after the Staff.

Duncan watched them leave through the revolving door they'd used earlier. He spared a glance at Renni to his left then at Rico and Zack on his right. They really were down for the count. He put a tentative hand on his chest to test out his own injuries, gauging the pain. Taking in a few slow breaths he thought back to what he'd originally considered about the situation on Actium. They were about to win here. The thousands of Marines, ODSTs and others would do their best to finish the job they'd started. So, what good would one injured Helljumper be if he tagged along?

Another memory kept him from going any further down that line of thought. It was that of Fleet Admiral Lord Hood back at New Alexandria whose words answered his question of how much good a single soldier could do. Hood had never said if it mattered whether they were injured or not. His words were repeated by Colonel Mentieth in reference to the undertaking of the very same campaign that they were about to complete today. They all mentioned the same name: "Admiral Preston J. Cole."

If one man could risk a supernova to kill off a Covenant armada then certainly a Helljumper, as per his namesake, could risk what was tantamount to a little sunburn to help win back a planet.

He gritted his teeth, grunted as he hauled himself along the wall then walked out into the rows of stretchers, bound for the equipment lockers on the other side.

:********:

UNSC forces in High Mediolanum's 2nd Tier had spent most of the predawn assembling back into their units. Across the middle level of the city, Marines and ODSTs were clearing out armories with nearly every weapon variety in the arsenal registry of the United Nations Space Command. Armored personnel hopped into the front seats and onto the turrets of Warthogs. Trained fingers moved dexterously over the control panels of the 53rd's plenteous Scorpion battle-tanks as their canopies slid shut. Pilots pulled themselves into the cockpits of Hornets, Pelicans and Longsword fighters being deployed on the mission. Many of the dropships opened their bays for Marines of the 4th and 27th Expeditionary Marines and ODSTs from both battalions to load inside.

Air elements from the 24th Air Recon were predominantly taking off from the more open areas on and near the HMPD HQ.

Convoys 7 through 9 were assembling in the lots outside the Henry Gosse Parthenon Oceanarium in Mezoline as part of Colonel Garrison's Column C.

The campus grounds of the Perseus Institute in Eleusis hosted the mobilization of Convoys 1 through 3 of Lieutenant Colonel Serakovich's Column A.

Lastly, the decorative cobblestone surfaces surrounding the Eden Mall in Ano Liosia were being thoroughly occupied with the cascading footfalls and rumbling engines of Convoys 4 through 6, Colonel Mentieth's Column B.

Hundreds of Marines and ODSTs of Delta and Echo Company moved along the armored sub-columns of Warthogs, Scorpions and Mongooses gathering over the mall's front esplanade which stretched to the beginning of the eastern highways. Duncan was among them, jogging from one sub-column to the next while trying not to be swept away by the currents of personnel moving to and fro between them.

He managed to push through the last of Convoy-6 to reach the grassy interval between the mall's front esplanade and one of the cobblestone yards that occupied the corners of the surrounding grounds. It was obvious that it had rained earlier since the grass squeaked annoyingly under his boots. The rain also explained the state of the stony yard itself since it was relatively clean of the blue blood and tungsten fragments from earlier. It was relatively clear with the exception of the dozens of vehicles belonging to Convoy-10 that were parked on the yard.

He looked around, checking the faces that buzzed past him as they loaded up, ran to other stations or hopped down to examine their transports for signs of previously undetected damage.

Eventually he caught sight of two Warthogs in the middle of the third sub-column. The rear one was a regular turret Hog. Yuri was on the gun. Hector was at the wheel with Nova riding shotgun, cradling her BR as well as a SPNKR propped between her knees. The second Hog, the one at the front, held an imposing M79 Rocket system, marking it out as a Rockethog. Judging by the katana on the trooper's back, he figured it was Mito who was behind the M79. The Staff, in his red-accented armor, was at the wheel. There was no one at the shotgun seat next to him, not yet.

Duncan jogged over, keeping his newly acquired gear balanced on his shoulders.

The others saw him and called out to him over the cacophony of engines.

"Had good nap at five-star hotel, Irish!?" Yuri asked, suggestively pointing his turret at him.

"It was alright! Couldn't say the same for the room service though!"

"Well, it's good to have you back!" Hector chortled. "I'd rather have you over Zack if I can help it!"

"Good thing too!" Mito added, nodding at his M79. "I wasn't sure I could manage holding off Covies on my own with this thing! At least with you here I've got someone to cover me when I'm cycling chambers!"

"I'll do what I can to help, Sir Samurai!"

Almost to the front Hog, Duncan saw Nova's depolarized face. She might as well have kept it hidden since her poker face was just as difficult to read as when it was behind her visor. He could tell she was stuck in a neutral purgatory between disapproval, worry and amusement. He gave her the thumbs up then stopped once he'd reached the shotgun seat.

The Staff eyed him for a moment. "Think you'll get anyone else killed?"

Duncan let his actions speak for him in bringing down the SPNKR he had carried on his shoulders with his right hand while hefting an MA37 assault rifle with his left, holding both weapons akimbo.

The Staff nodded in acceptance of his answer then gestured for him to come aboard. Duncan slipped his rifle onto his harness to better maneuver the rocket launcher and himself into the seat. "Ready."

There was a sudden, thunderous roar of multiple engines rumbling to life all at once that filled the air. Vehicles across the mall were revving up for their deployment.

Thirty seconds later the vanguard of Convoys 4 through 6 began driving from the grounds of the mall before taking off down several easterly highways. The others began to follow, creating an even greater cacophony that permeated the entire area.

In under a minute the whole of the convoys were on the move. Then, at Ludwick's order over the comms shortly after, Convoy-10 got underway.

Epsilon's Hog stayed in the third sub-column as they left the mall for the continuous asphalt of one of the eastern highways.

Duncan, for reasons he wasn't certain of himself, took off his helmet to let the wind rustle through his dark hair. It felt refreshingly chilly and was slowly warming. He found the reason for it in looking towards the east. Several kilometers away stood the towering visage of the 2nd Premiere Wall. Past that was the urban tree-line of the scores of skyscrapers on the 3rd Tier. Beyond those was the very top of the distant yet barely visible 3rd Premiere Wall as well as the tips of the several mountains that hemmed in the city's outer limits. Behind everything was the bright eye of Aquilla slowly peeking over the eastern horizon to greet the rest of the world. Its emerging sunlight turned the sky from a faint pinkish purple to a vibrant reddish orange, its glow causing the many windows of the numerous skyscrapers to glitter like a glassy array of stars.

To either side he could see Mongooses with two-man teams and Warthogs with three-man teams pushing along the highways. The Scorpions kept pace around them, hosting six-man crews, mainly hitchhiking Marines and ODSTs who didn't have to leg it the rest of the way like the majority of their comrades jogging over the sidewalks.

Through the occasional breaks in the buildings that they passed to his right and left he saw the other convoys moving through Ano Liosia. The hundreds of footfalls of boots, whining tires and burbling treads was so loud that he could feel the sound of their collective movement in his bones.

Their advance was accompanied by the whine of the dozens of Hornets and Pelicans that were flying hundreds of meters overhead along with the squadrons of Longswords that regularly roared past them at even greater speeds.

Then there was the UNSC Tower of Babel. Looking back, he witnessed the Destroyer making its way from its hold over the 1st Tier into the airspace above the 2nd. Interestingly, the knife-shaped vessel of war was nearly whisper quiet in its forward progress across the skies. Its silhouette momentarily passed over them as it headed in the same direction towards their shared goal: the 2nd Premiere Wall.

"Listen up Ep-8." The Staff said. "Here's the deal, while everyone in the other convoys are going to the gatehouses to engage from the wall, Convoy-10 will be dealing with a different task. We're headed deeper into the Scenic District to assist the Spartans in their operation."

"Another op?" Duncan asked, confused at how the armored giants could just keep going, even after yesterday's events. Then again, here he was carrying a rocket launcher with his chest still aching from DCS, and he was only an ODST.

"We're acting as their back-up since where they currently are no one else will be able to reach them if they're compromised. We're going to reinforce them to make sure their op goes off without a hitch. So keep your eyes up because we'll be the only forces out there for a while. Everyone else will be busy holding at the wall before they can break through to us."

"...Copy that."

Duncan still wasn't sure how he felt about the fact they were going to be cut off from everyone else. Isolation behind enemy lines and going loud were two different factors that tended not to mix very well during an operation. "Think we can handle this, sir?"

The Staff was about to answer when they overheard a familiar voice. It was the voice of one man coming from many different directions.

It took them a second to realize that it was originating from the radios of the vehicles around them. Many of the other personnel were focused on the road ahead while also leaning in to their devices on their Mongooses, Hogs and Scorpions. They were listening to a speech.

It took the troopers another second to identify the voice as belonging to Colonel Mentieth. From what Duncan could tell, the commanding officer of the 53rd Armored Division was already in the middle of his speech, although he couldn't hear him very well.

As they drove along, the Staff decided to flick on their Hog's radio. He flipped through the various channels in search of the one everyone was playing, grumbling at his increasingly futile efforts. "Where's Zack when you actually need him?"

After a full minute of trying, he managed to find the one they were looking for. It was a broadcast being sent to every vehicle in the 53rd, every aircraft in the 24th and back-mounted radio-set among the infantry.

Since they were getting closer to the wall, Duncan slid on his helmet and clicked it into place, all the while listening to the colonel. He could tell that Mentieth was about to wrap up his speech. Still, he was thankful that they had at least caught the tail end of what he had to say.

"Let no one here question our place in human history. That we are here right now is not coincidence or accident. It is our fate. And this war, our birthright — our legacy. Our generation was born to fight the Covenant, and you, my fellow soldiers - were born for this very day. Today the enemy will hear the roar of humanity. And they will fear us."

Determinatio - Determined


	58. Battle of Actium - Chapter 20 (Immortalem)

Chapter 20 – Immortalem

(7th Cycle, 84 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

:********:

Fear.

He felt it, not from himself but in the very hearts of the faithful flock over which he had been given charge. There was tension in the air, one brought on by fear of what was to come. The humans were almost here. They would fight to retake their city. And so would he also fight to ensure the integrity of the holy warriors that defended the final tier. He would petition the Gods to strengthen them, to prepare their soul to fight and to also be ready to meet their Gods if the divine so ordained it. His purpose was to ensure that fear he sensed in the garrisons stationed throughout the city was abated before the arrival of their enemies. However, his current conditions, were they visible to any and all Covenant forces, would give them the impression that faith alone would not be enough to garner them the victory.

The Minister of Iconography, Avuum Rezzic was not impressed. His sheltering arrangements, those made by Field Marshall Kozon Duracomee, were not helpful to his cause to say the least. They were only helpful in assuring his personal team of 7 loyal Honor Guards that their spiritual defense meant little against the possibility of an external and temporal incursion.

The skyscraper within which he was taking refuge was one of the largest in the 3rd Tier and was consequently established near its center. The angular structure continuously sloped inwards from its base all the way up to the top before cresting downwards to connect with its slightly shorter side, much like a crystal. Its sheer size was rivaled only by a few dozen others that stretched towards the heavens, several of which were in its immediate vicinity and surrounded it on all sides. Those other nearby buildings were the primary concern of those that sought after Rezzic's upmost security. There was always the chance that someone could use them to gain a better vantage point from which to strike him, were there any to begin with. He had his doubts. Nevertheless, Duracomee had decided to put in place a few precautions.

For one, the part of the floor that he was on was being defended by several overlapping energy barriers, more than sufficient to stop any attack. Further, his personal guard was increased. Other than the Honor Guards that actively patrolled the room he was in, there was also the presence of a battalion's worth of holy warriors set both in and around the building. The small square at the base of the structure was occupied by numerous Sangheili, Unggoy, Kig-Yar and Megalekgolo pairs. A majority of the surrounding structures were secured by Kig-Yar snipers monitoring the roads and highways that ran from the encompassing city, many of which just so happened to meet at a critical juncture: the square.

Rezzic had good reason to believe that the major junction was located just on the eastern face of the building simply because the structure itself was important. It had to be somehow relevant to the life of the inhabitant humans, perhaps in some manner of trade and commerce. That theory seemed the most apt since it explained why so many of the skyscrapers in this tier held signs and names that translated to what would amount to different business brands. The one he was in held a particular name: 'The Luna Alta'. It's exact meaning was difficult to discern since its words were derived from several different human languages. It likely bore some affiliation with clerical work. He had already seen the levels upon levels of office and administrative spaces within the interior. Solid confirmation of his theory came from the flying detritus of unsecured documents that flew around when his personal Phantom descended upon one of the two landing pads outside the room. As a matter of fact, this room was little more than a well-kept lounge of sorts, well kept up to the point of the papers that still occasionally sailed across the marble sheened floor. Their movement cast small shadows against the blue light emitting from the four bulky, cyclopean recording devices that observed him, two to his forward-left and two to his forward-right.

Behind each stood one of his Unggoy Deacons, members of his inquisition group put in charge of the recording process. Above them hovered two helmeted Huragok who were meant to stay close at hand in case of any technical issues. He knew they would act quickly in case anything happened. But could they act quickly enough? If what Rezzic himself feared to be the worst scenario ultimately came to pass then he wondered if even the tech-omnipotent creatures could act with the speed that was required. He hoped they could, because they were the only ones aware of his proposed solution to such a catastrophic dilemma.

Then he rebuked himself, coming to understand that he was following the exact same line of fearful reasoning that Duracomee and so many others were adhering to. He needed to be their example, truthfully. If he could not invoke the power of the Gods to nourish their spirits by showing his own fearlessness then certainly no one could, and they would lose this battle. So he focused on his upraised arms, his strong posture and his moving lips. He put everything he had into the first prayer of the final petitioning for the Ceremony of Sanctification: Atonement.

The relevant symbol appeared over him from a nearby projector.

"May the faithful in heart rejoice, may their mouths and hands be blessed as to the fruit of their words and the reward of their labor. May the Gods be so willing to judge and bring forth righteous judgement on a deserving flock. For a deserving people have been found, two of numbers untold. May there be rich blessing bestowed upon the one that is steadfast." Rezzic began to fold in his hands in accordance with his words. "But may there also be a gift of forgiveness for this place, upon this city, for the land and its glory given by the Gods has been defiled and skewed. May the divine who, in their wisdom, have endured this indignity until now, show grace, for regret is found in these lands, and much sorrow. It has endured the sin of bearing shelter to a disgraceful kind, heretics by their very nature that deny the holiness of the Gods and the justness of our cause. On each world they seek only their own enrichment, only their own amusement and beneficence, nothing else. Not anymore. May forgiveness be lavished on this land for the sin that was forced upon it, and may it be so pleasing to the Gods as to cleanse it in their judgment, and bring forth from that pure regret, mercy."

In finishing the prayer of Atonement, Rezzic closed his hands into fists and balled them tightly. He then brought his arms down to hold his fists outward, one to the east and one to the south, his hands tightening even more as if they held in their frail grasp a sword. Then he began the prayer of Partitioning and Affliction, prompting the next symbol to appear.

"And yet, let there be no mercy. Not for the humans. May they be hunted like the vermin they are, cast down from the lofty perches upon which they blinded themselves with their own glory and denied the holiness of the path. Let their punishment be first of separation. May they be judged apart from the land out of mercy for its repentance that we so assisted when we first arrived. Let them be cut out and cut off from all aid. Then may it be so pleasing to the Gods to bring them their second punishment, affliction by fire." He slowly uncurled his hands and stretched them out in an offering gesture. "May they leave this world in torment to enter another of torment, that the longsuffering of the Gods in patiently enduring their arrogance will be brought to an end, and that the suffering of the defilers that desecrated their holy relics might be everlasting."

Rezzic bowed his head nearly to his lap as he brought his hands in front of himself before stretching them out towards the ceiling and the heavens beyond. He felt the weight of his headpiece settle on him with greater pressure. Yet it was nothing compared to the palpable heaviness of tens of thousands of the rightfully converted undoubtedly watching his every move. He would bring them the hope they needed.

The last symbol appeared above him.

"And let truth reign. Let the lies of these defilers which they believed wholeheartedly be shown for what they are as they themselves are brought low by truth. Even now the heavens set their sights against them, to expose them in their corruption so that they may see that they chose a lie over the truth. But allow them, oh enlightened ones, to see fully the error of their course, that they may come to regret their wrongdoing. But do not let them, in your abundant mercy, repent of those wrongs. Wrap them back forever in the rags with which they clothed their souls to blind themselves from truth, that the truth itself may blind them in their own lies. Then they shall be doomed as the claws of their damnation drag them into the very darkness which they had so desired and embraced all their lives, that it may embrace them for all eternity with the penalty due their heresy. And may the Gods strengthen their servants with the truth of the rightness of our covenant, of the righteousness of our walk along the path, so that we may send them to that fate."

In his fervor, he felt his hands begin to shake as he clasped them together, raising them towards the heavens in a manner befitting a humble beggar requesting the favor of a merciful passerby. "May it be so by the will of the Gods whom we worship, by the will of the prophets whose prayers they have sanctioned, and by the will of the warriors whose hands they have blessed."

With those last words he ended the final Prayer of Strengthening, and with it, finished the first part of the ceremony. Then he raised himself upright in his throne and floated closer to the recording devices. As he did, out of the corner of his eye he saw the Honor Guards move with him. They watched him as they patrolled the main level of the room as well as the upper floor separated by four mid-decks along the corners.

He stopped a short distance from the devices for those watching to see the lack of fear on his face. He held an empathetic hand to his chest. "Know that we will triumph here this day. We shall claim victory. Do not doubt. Though I may not fight alongside you, I shall fight with you in prayer to offer you the confidence you need. I will intercede on your behalf so that your hope may hold firm for what is to come."

Rezzic felt a fire rise in his chest, increasing his fervor. The spirits were with him. Even he could feel that the blessing of the Gods was resting upon him, clothing him in confidence, assuring him of the truth of his words. He felt a new message of courage well up inside of his heart to tell his faithful flock. He raised a triumphant fist, opened his mouth...and gargled his own blood.

He never got to hear the words that he wished to say. There was only the sound of a loud CRACK and the feeling of something stabbing through his throat in a burst of air and blood that threw him clear of his throne.

As he tumbled away, time slowed. He saw the recording devices recording his fall and the faces of the Deacons behind them that were slowly melting from strong assurance into horror.

Rezzic crashed onto the floor with such an impact that it knocked the remaining wind out of him, blurring his vision. He found that he couldn't breathe. There was a growing pain in his neck. He reached for it, touched something wet and brought his hand to his face. For the first time in his life, he saw his own lifeblood. It was blueish purple, thick but with a loose enough viscosity that it dripped from his fingers and pooled in his palm.

It seemed unreal. He felt as if he were drowning within himself, a fact that became clearer as the Honor Guards came rushing to his side, stopping short of the expanding pool of blue blood that surrounded him. He could see little other than their boots. Then slowly they too became blurry images in his hazing vision. Their shouts of alarm and anger grew distant.

His eyes felt heavy, heavier than anything he'd ever felt before. Slowly, he let them close and darkness embraced him.

:********:

Throughout the 3rd Tier, throngs of Covenant warriors looked on at holo-pedestals lining the streets with shared expressions of horror and dread. Before their very eyes lay the holographic image of a prophet, a Holy One, lying upon the floor with his lifeblood gathering around him. Reptilian, avian and arthropodal eyes widened in shock. Sharp screeches and increasingly enraged growls arose.

What was at first a growing clamor became a great outcry of many voices demanding blood and vengeance on those that had dared slay an anointed one.

Before long the recording cut out, leaving tens of thousands of the minister's adherents to search angrily for the object of their enmity.

From one of the several more level plains of the Luna Alta's slanted rooftop, R'tas could see part of the battalion that was stationed around the base of the building. The Sangheili officers were commanding their contingents to different parts of the area in order to secure it and search for the perpetrators of the heinous crime they had witnessed. However, R'tas was not so blind as to search in every given direction. His position had granted him a front-seat view of what had happened right below. The prophet was dead, and he had personally seen the bullet that had killed him.

"Where did it come from!?" Zuka growled from a dozen meters away, searching angrily through his own beam rifle.

R'tas recollected the trajectory of the flash of human ordinance that he'd seen between hearing it and seeing the minister thrown clear of his chair on the street-side holo-pedestals. He knew exactly what must have happened, and it terrified him.

The Prophet's position was surrounded by energy barriers in every area where he was believed to be most exposed. That left only the areas of least exposure, the rooms and hallways where little security was put in place because no one thought it possible for any long-range threat to stem from there. Regardless of that supposition, he knew what he saw.

The bullet had shot clean through one of the windows of the rooms on the same floor as the minister but was still a good distance away from him. So how in the name of the Gods could it have reached him? There was too much internal infrastructure, walls, ceilings, furniture and bends in the architecture that would have stopped it the moment it passed through the glass. Unless...

R'tas felt a cold chill settle in his stomach like a block of ice.

Unless the ordinance had somehow managed to ricochet throughout the interior. But that was impossible. There would be long hallways, closed doors, something to stop it. It was impossible, or so he had thought, until he had seen it firsthand and found his mind rejecting what his own eyes had observed. No. It was possible, just improbable, at least for a normal human.

"I saw only one shot." R'tas said, answering Zuka's question indirectly.

"One, are you sure?"

"Yes." He sighted down the scope of his beam rifle and shifted to where the flash had originated. "It came from-"

He saw a second flash as he his sights centered on the top level of the nearest skyscraper to the east. He felt history repeat itself as his beam rifle flew apart in his hands. A high-caliber human bullet burst through the frame of his weapon with a resonant and familiar CRACK.

R'tas was not as phased as he was the first time. Thinking quickly, he rolled away from his original prone position, down a small flight of metal stairs onto a wider area of gravel roofing. He braced himself against the parapet and glanced back over the concrete platform where the two of them had taken up overwatch. "Zuka!"

"Already on the other side! It's that Demon, isn't it!?"

"What other eldritch creature could accomplish such a feat?" He growled under his breath, furious that he hadn't seen it coming. Now he knew for certain that Nerulee had lied, not only to himself, but to Zuka, to their entire unit and likely to the Field Marshall as well. What made matters worse was that a prophet had paid the price for his superior's deceit.

"I thought Nerulee said they were destroyed!" Zuka hissed.

"Did you honestly believe him?"

"No, not for a moment."

A shadow flew over R'tas. He looked up in time to see another beam rifle being thrown over to him across the platform. He grabbed it out of the air.

"Use it!" Zuka said. "You're a better shot than I am at this range! I'll report their position!"

"Right! Keep your head down, I'll keep it pinned where it is!" Keeping the Demon pinned was all he could think himself capable of doing. Even if he was the better shot out of the two of them there was definitely a skill gap between him and his opponent, especially if it was the same one from before. He would need to move quickly in order to counter that one.

R'tas crouch-walked further down the parapet then rose up to take aim at the adjacent skyscraper to the east. This time he got a better view of the building. It was an octagonal-sided structure with three distinctly segmented sections, each one smaller than the last in order of distance from the base. An off-branching, decorative archway started at the second section before curving and ending at the rooftop of the last.

The shot hadn't come from the rooftop. That position was far too exposed. He shifted down to the top-level and scanned across its transparent windows, searching the darkened rooms and office spaces on the other side. His dual crescent-shaped targeting reticle remained a neutral blue. The Demon must have also displaced, likely out of tactical wisdom in predicting that he had spotted their position and survived to respond.

He saw a shadow move amongst the desks and ducked down to avoid the shot that he sensed coming. His senses proved correct, saving him from another round that flashed just overhead. He rolled closer to the platform again then arose to return a reply, firing a single particle round into the window where he saw the moving shadow. The glass shattered inward at the point of a fist-sized hole punched through its surface, one of two. The other had to be from the Demon. He briefly wondered whether he had struck his assailant when he saw a green-armored figure emerge from the dark, sliding to a crouch in front of the very hole he'd made so that it could aim through it, right back at him.

At that moment, on the other side of their scopes, both Demon and Sangheili saw each other. But R'tas refused to fire. He let the creature shoot first, preemptively ducking away so that the shot impacted the post of the rooftop door a few meters behind him, blowing a solid chunk out of the concrete.

That was the fourth shot.

Those high caliber human rifles only had a magazine occupancy of four rounds. Right now, the creature was probably reloading, which gave him the short window he needed to gamble with his thruster pack. He jetted away from that part of the rooftop. Spotting Zuka out of the corner of his periphery issuing directions on his comms, he refocused on the third most upper floor where he'd seen his opponent.

Sure enough he saw through his scope that they were taking out the spent magazine from their sniper rifle. Since they'd moved closer to the window to get a better shot at him, he could use their own positioning to his advantage.

However, the Demon must have sensed this as it threw itself out of the way of his second shot before he could land the critical hit. As it rolled it slapped a second magazine into its rifle then came back up to track him along his lateral-moving trajectory. He predicted this as well and stopped his right thruster halfway to his destination, simultaneously using the off-balanced propulsion to swing his left arm and consequently his entire body from out of the path of the Demon's follow-up shot. The bullet whizzed past his left shoulder, close enough to momentarily blind him and slightly rattle his helmet. He used his momentum and partial propulsion to turn vertically in an organized spiral until he was facing downward. By then he was dropping down headlong to a lower part of the rooftop, fast enough for his adversary not to be able to track him, if only briefly. He fell a full 10 meters before reactivating his right thruster and folding his legs in close to his chest. The counterbalance pulled him from his downward tumble so that he landed upright with a slight squat on impact. He sprung back up and sprinted for the corner where the nearby parapet met the rising wall of the roof's uppermost section.

He braced against it then slid around to take aim.

The Demon, once again, was gone. It had likely learned its lesson from trying to engage him in a more open space earlier. He scoped across the next two levels, looking for his quarry. He found a dashing shadow on one of them, zoomed in and fired a particle round that wisped through the glass. There was no movement in the darkness beyond except the falling fragments from the cratered material. A second later came movement on the level beneath that one. He homed in and fired. Again, nothing.

A shadow flashed across the next level, earning his ire. What was this Demon doing, trying to get him to waste his munitions? It wasn't possible that they were moving so fast between each level and each of his shots, unless there was more than one. Had all of the Demons survived then?

The very thought filled him with a brimming rage that made his trigger finger twitch around the firing stripe. Nerulee would have to suffer some terrible consequence for his lies. Then again, if he paid for his actions then it would likely be that all his Shadows would share in it. His entire unit could be punished for failing to protect the minister. Not only that, but the legacy of their bloodlines and their keeps could very well be eternally marred, at which point, unending damnation was a preferable alternative. Nerulee had put all their souls and all those of their houses at risk, all because he refused to tell the truth, to instead have them stay at a distance and use complicated machinations to solve their problem.

Distance.

He felt almost as if he would laugh at that considering what he was doing now. But maybe that was the whole point. With distance he was less able to find his enemy. He attacked every moving shadow in the upper levels with no signs of success. It was almost like a mirror of his frustrations, an embodiment of what he found wrong with the Silent Shadows. Because of that distance he could not effectively face his foe. His enemy or enemies kept evading him, blending better with the darkness than he could with active camouflage. They were, in a sense, and to his great intrigue and disgust, better 'Silent Shadows' than himself.

In that moment he felt something finally give way within himself. It was the last embers of his patience finally dying out, both at his fruitless search for the Demons and his equally fruitless search for satisfaction. The consequences for the former manifested themselves far faster than the latter.

R'tas saw the ammo counter on his HUD drop to '20' by the time of his last shot which produced little more than shattered glass. Then he finally noticed a shape moving in the upper corner of his periphery, his eyes widening behind his visor in recognition of the obscure form. His attention shot up to the building's rooftop where he found himself looking down the sniper barrel of a Demon lying prone at the very middle.

His reticle turned red.

They both fired.

He felt his rifle fly apart in his hands from the bullet that passed through it. Only this time it struck the particle containment vessel inside which effectively blew out his last shot in an uncondensed and uncoordinated blast of azure energy. At least part of it had condensed to several points of plasma that shot into his surroundings, one of which burst his energy shields and pierced his visor. He felt it slice across the top of his head, barely missing a lethal hit so that it blew a hole clean through the back of his helmet.

R'tas threw himself down behind the parapet.

To his surprise there was no attempt at a follow-up to finish him off now that he was disarmed. Whether his enemy was eliminated or not he couldn't tell. What captured his immediate concern was the hole in his visor along with the blood beginning to seep past his eyes.

More than anything, he felt anger over pain. Again, the Demon with the sniper had gotten the better of him. It fooled him into thinking it had gone downwards when in reality it had taken the most effective yet most compromising position from which to fire. Even worse, he was rendered useless. There was no other weapon on his person except for his plasma rifle. He could do nothing more here.

"Brother!" Zuka called over their communication link. "Do you still draw breath!?"

"...Barely!"

"Did you kill it!?"

"I do not know, but we must withdraw!"

There was a silence on Zuka's end. "But...we have them right where we want them, behind our lines, within our range!"

"They are beyond our grasp now! Let the others have their way with them! We'll fall back to recon the outside of their building. We'll make sure they do not escape!"

There was a second round of silence from Zuka before he said in the most exhausted voice that he had ever heard from him, "Understood."

R'tas hoped that he did indeed understand. He knew how hot-blooded he could be, and deservedly so considering what they had just witnessed. Nevertheless, what glory was there in dying here where there was no effective way to face the enemy? He'd heard that line of logic from himself before and under very similar conditions.

He bit back his pride that told him to take up his plasma rifle, to stand and fire and reclaim the honor he'd lost in incurring a wound.

It suddenly became clear to him where his troubles began. His logic was not wrong in telling him to run. Neither was his heart which told him to stay and fight. They were both right. The only thing wrong was that he had placed himself in a position where he could do neither one in keeping with his conscience. He had decided to stalk from a distance and fight for the Covenant in this manner in the hopes that it would bring him the honor he sought, to remain in darkness so as to follow after the wishes he made in the light of his youth. He was a Silent Shadow. That was where he went wrong.

He thought back to that youth where he had personally rebuked a Sangheili he knew quite well for once following in a similar path. Yet here he was eating his own words and living against his own counsel. It seemed that he had more wisdom when he was younger than he did up until now.

He was no assassin; he was a warrior. Everything from his own hot bloodedness to his tactical mind told him such. His logic comprehended that he was in no position to fight, not at this distance, and needed to reach one where he could. His honor-bound heart understood that he needed to fight head-on no matter the circumstances. So, he decided that he would act in obedience to both.

R'tas crouch-walked towards the other side of the rooftop, hopping down to the lower sections due to the slanting architecture. He spotted Zuka coming down on the other side and they met at the bottom section of the roofing. Zuka looked him over but said nothing at the fact that he could see his teammate's right eye through his shattered visor.

For once, R'tas wondered what his fellow Sangheili was thinking, at least of the Shadows. He never outwardly complained about much except what he viewed as his superiors' lack of conviction, not knowing that his Second Blade Officer complained inwardly about his own convictions. Maybe they were similar in that regard as well. Even if they were, they were about to take very different paths in this life and he could sense it.

He pointed to a nearby highway that ran from north to south near the Luna Alta. "We'll use this to flank around their position and use our thruster packs to move quickly."

"Understood." Zuka said no less tired of the decision to withdraw. If only he knew that he wasn't the only one.

The two of them stopped at the edge, quickly tested their thrusters with a few short bursts then leaped away from the skyscraper. As they used regular bursts of propulsion to control their descent, R'tas looked back to the ever-distant rooftop. Inside he swore that never again would he put himself in that position of conflict between mind and soul.

:********:

The Master Chief looked out the window down at the hundreds of Grunts, Jackals and Elites converging on the building. They began to storm into the front doors of the ground floor, blasting their way through where the walling limited their influx. He stepped back to brace himself against the wall of the topmost floor.

He only felt free to look outside since Linda had silenced the sniper posted on the target building. She had also taken out the target himself. He saw as much thanks to the Covenant holo-pedestal a few meters further into the floor's office space left here by scouts. He got to see the Minister of Iconography's projection lying dead on the floor. Unlike Kelly and Fred, he contained his own private amazement at the fact she was able to make the shot. She was the best Spartan with a long-range weapon, of course, but that never made feats like a single, well-calculated ricochet that actually worked any less impressive. It took them hours of painstaking maneuvering street by street and sewer by sewer for them to reach this point. Then they spent even more time reexamining schematics of the target building for her to plan what she would do and when, not to mention that they had to wait for the minister himself to show up where they logically deduced that he would.

They got the job done that they came to do. What came next would be a slaughter as a result of the delaying action they would need to pull off in order to withstand the incoming mob.

"We've got company on the way. Fred?"

Fred nodded from where he was braced behind a large cubicle further along their floor. "I've already setup the party favors for our house-guests at levels 5, 9, 12 and 18. It won't be long before we start hearing them popping off."

"Copy that. Kelly?"

She was further down the aisle of cubicles, using the far wall for cover. She gave the thumbs up. "Levels 21, 27 and 67 through 74 are also set."

"Good. Break from cover. We'll start setting up our final defenses and hold out for our extraction."

The team flashed their green acknowledgement lights.

As they moved, the Chief saw Linda coming down the stairwell in the nearby corner of the office space that led up to the rooftop entrance. She stopped once she saw him and held up her SRS-99, or what was left of it. One hand held the main body of the rifle, smoldering and torn back at the base of the barrel like smelted metal. The other hand held the barrel itself which was nearly split in half down its length and glowed a molten orange along the partition.

Kelly whistled. "Guess Misriah doesn't make them like they used to."

"No." Linda said. "That enemy sniper, he was no pushover."

"Elite or Jackal?" Fred asked.

"Elite. It looked like one of a binary, the same black-armored pair I was hunting two days ago that tried to kill Colonel Garrison...my two rabbits."

Fred's attention shot over to Kelly who looked less than pleased at the allusion made by her teammate.

The Chief interjected. "Were you able to confirm the kill?"

Linda shook her head as she laid her rifle's remains to rest atop a work desk. "No, but I was able to shoot his rifle out of his hands. That was the best I could do with the chances I had to pull the trigger. Figured they would be the biggest threat to the convoy so I went after them, but that back there...I'll admit, one of them is probably the hardest target I've ever had to hit that was trying to do the same to me. He almost never presented a profile large enough for me to target, like he could predict where I was going to aim." She brushed a hand over the body of her former weapon with the care of a mother affectionately touching her injured child. She sighed in acceptance, took out her DMR from her harness and turned away. "Whatever those special forces are, Chief, I wouldn't recommend us running into them more than once, not unless we have a plan on how to deal with them."

"We'll figure things out as we go. For now, we'll stay put. I'll inform Colonel Mentieth that we eliminated our target-"

Before the Chief could finish his sentence, his and everyone else's enhanced sixth senses detected the small burst of electromagnetic energy that made them turn swiftly to the source.

The holo-pedestal was alive and active again, as was the Minster of Iconography.

The prophet was sitting in his throne and looked relatively untouched, even in good condition. He had a look of righteous indignation on his face that soon turned to sympathy. His voice emanated from the device, causing their MJOLNIRs' translation suites to capture and translate what he was saying into UNSC standard English.

"Do not be alarmed, my faithful warriors, for I yet live." He grasped parts of his robes and held them to the screen. "See, there is no sign of the wounds with which our enemies, the Demons, the adversaries of our Gods, sought to use to silence me. The sublime ones, in their wisdom, chose to test our faith to see if we genuinely believed in them by allowing you to see me fall. But look, I am still here."

The Chief heard the commotion outside suddenly begin to subside until it died off in a matter of seconds behind an awe-filled silence. He and Blue Team watched the minister as he raised his right hand and pointed to himself with his left.

"Those that came before us were pleased to bless me with immortality, that I might be an example to you of the truthfulness of our cause and the path we walk. Transcendence awaits us all on the Great Journey. None shall be left behind from the weakest of the Unggoy to the strongest of the Sangheili. All who are faithful to our Covenant will be blessed with salvation just as gloriously as I have been. Now go, and destroy the enemies of our faith! Go, and show them the truthfulness of our cause! Leave none behind to speak of their slaughter!"

In the wake of his pronouncement arose a unanimous cheer of both light and deep alien voices crying out across the city with joy and bravado. The Master Chief could do nothing except stand there watching along with Kelly, Fred and Linda as a content smile crossed the prophet's lips. He clasped his hands together in prayer and closed his eyes.

"I shall pray for you continually that your strength will not waver. May you go forth in the hope and power which I have asked for you, and may we finish the divine work to which our Gods have appointed us."

Immortalem - Immortal


	59. Battle of Actium - Chapter 21 (Allucinato)

Chapter 21 – Allucinato

May 10th, 2545 (08:05 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Chalcis Block, Mason-Harcourt Law firm

:********:

The Master Chief gave each of the four Grunts rounding the corner a four-round burst from his MA5B, leaving him enough ammo to shatter the shields of the Elite Minor coming behind them. Linda finished it off with a shot from her DMR, leaving a hole in its right eye. The corpses dropped beside dozens of others accumulating in the entry hallway on floor 66.

The Covenant were becoming a lot more brazen, so much so that they simply charged through the Antillon-anti personnel minefields left behind on 6 different levels. Seeing their own get repeatedly blown apart hadn't even phased those coming after them. Their pace was so fast that the Chief had Linda come down with him just to buy time.

The next arrivals through the stairwell doors were so bulky that they knocked the metal barriers clean off their hinges. It was a Hunter Pair. The two behemoths stomped around the corner to reach the hallway where John and Linda were, set their sights on the Spartans on the other end and opened fire.

Both of them wheeled back around the adjacent corners they were using to avoid dual streams of shimmering green plasma. After three seconds the streams subsided, prompting the Spartans to swivel back out.

The Chief pitched a frag that hit the rooftop exactly above the Hunters to bounce down behind them. It detonated, buffeting the juggernauts in a shrapnel-filled shockwave that brought them to their knees.

Linda scored pin-point shots on the pulsing fuel rods extending from one of their cannons. The rods cracked, their shimmering glow rising before spewing a whining detonation that erupted outward in a scythe of green energy, splitting the cannon into two jagged halves along with its wielder.

Seeing its fallen partner, the other Hunter roared in anger. The spines on its back rattled as it charged forwards. To make matters worse a newly arriving pair came lumbering onto the floor and stomped over the carnage behind it.

"Blue-4, fall back!"

Linda flashed a green acknowledgement light and dashed past his position while he covered her. Once she was clear, he sprinted after her towards a door on the other side of the perpendicular hallway. They slammed it shut behind them right as the first Hunter turned the corner. He heard the whining roar of a plasma cannon and the metal door began to glow.

They headed up a flight of stairs onto floor 67 and carefully followed the path Kelly had set for them. Their pursuers were less cautious. Halfway to the stairs leading to floor 68 the first of the armored juggernauts shouldered its way through the door onto their floor. The other pair came afterwards followed by squads of Grunts and Elites that raced throughout the maze of glass-walled office spaces and work cubicles. Thankfully, the two Spartans clambered up the stairs to the next floor before they could be discovered.

"Blue-2, you're clear to set off floor 67."

"Got it, Chief." Kelly replied over the comm. "Might want to cover your ears."

Multiple, syncopated beeps emanated from the floor below. A second later the explosions began.

Thunder rumbled beneath them as the Antlion Mines Kelly had planted earlier went off in rapid succession, creating a sudden firestorm on floor 67. The Chief heard the screams of the perishing forces below quickly subside.

"Sounds like that got them." Linda commented.

"That probably bought us two more minutes. Blue-1 to Blue-2 and 3, we're on our way up to your location."

Kelly and Fred winked their acknowledgements.

The next few floors passed by like a blur for the fast-moving duo despite that they routinely stopped to bolt doors shut behind them, adding more obstacles for the Covenant. The more delays the better. In under two minutes they reached the top floor. The Chief bolted the last door shut as they ran over the office space to rejoin the others on the far side.

Kelly was crouched near the windows working over a portable munitions casing. Fred stood next to her hefting a SPNKR. They were loading an experimental 'harpoon' given to them in the worst-case scenario that they ended up needing to change buildings without using streets. That scenario was more of a reality now, one the Chief could see for himself once he looked out the window.

Hundreds of Covenant soldiers had gathered outside the Mason-Harcourt Law firm Building: reinforcements to those already inside. The sight of them was curtained off behind a flash of light a few floors below that shook the building.

Smoke plumed out from the structure. The newest explosions came from floor 74, the last one with explosives. Now, there was nothing stopping them from reaching the top floor.

As if on cue, a contact reached the Master Chief's comms and he patched it through to the rest of the team. Colonel Mentieth's voice came through. "Chief, are you and your team still in one piece?"

"For now, sir. Have you considered the situation?"

"I have." He paused for a moment. "You're team has the greenlight for insertion into the target building. You're only to search for and eliminate that prophet if you're certain of his location. Otherwise, hunker down until reinforcements arrive."

The Chief looked to the neighboring Luna-Alta whose diamond-like contours were beginning to emit a blinding shimmer in the rising sunlight. "When will that be sir?"

"Convoy-10 is currently in route to your local using subterranean tunnels. They're encountering some resistance but Ludowski's told me they'll reach you in the next five minutes. Can you hold until then?"

The Chief looked out to the others. Having overheard everything, they each gave him a quiet nod. It wouldn't be much longer before hostile forces eventually reached their floor and there was always the prospect of being overrun. Nevertheless, it seemed the more appealing option compared to emerging into an open space where there was no cover between them and hundreds of plasma weapons aimed skyward.

"We can hold, sir."

"Understood, wish you luck Master Chief. Inform me when you've terminated that prophet. Mentieth out."

Once the Colonel's comm winked off, the others got in their own opinions.

"I've still got a bad feeling about all this." Linda said. "I know I hit him, Chief. You saw it too."

"Maybe there really were two prophets?" Fred asked, popping open the SPNKR's firing chamber. "It's a possibility that Mr. Icon had a twin-brother."

Kelly forced the metal-headed harpoon down into one of the rocket tubes. "That would better explain the two private chambers we found in that C&C. I find it hard to believe whoever set that trap did it just so we could come to the same conclusion of reaching the hub." She traced the metal wiring of the connective line from the harpoon through one of the tube's exits. That way the rest of the spool would follow after being launched.

"Unless something else is involved here." The Chief noted. "Whatever it might be we're going to find out. Alright Spartans, rules of engagement..." He slapped a fresh magazine into his assault rifle, "We clear anything and everything waiting for us that meets the basic criteria: it's not human and it's in our way. And if that prophet is still alive..." He looked to Linda as the bolt on his gun slid the first bullet into the chamber. "Then we'll just have put that immortality of his to the test."

Linda slowly nodded. "Sounds like a plan, sir."

"And what about those special forces Linda was dancing with?" Fred asked. "I'm placing my bets on there being more of them where we're going."

"They do know how to dance." Linda added, casting a remorseful gaze at the desk where her sniper lay.

"Considering their previously observed level of threat to local forces it would be best for us to treat them as secondary objectives. If we encounter them, we'll neutralize them immediately."

"Copy that." The three Spartans said in unison right before the sounds of a commotion began behind them. They whipped around to set their gun sights on the stairway door. There was the distinct whine of plasma rifles accompanied by several glowing spots in the metal framing.

"Looks like we're dancing with these guys first." Kelly sighed.

The Chief pointed them to different spots around the room. Blue Team quietly dispersed to superior firing positions near the door. The moment it finally blew off its hinges, they poured fire into the two-meter-tall silhouettes on the other side of the smoke.

:********:

If Duncan's memory served him correctly, the Luna Alta was one of the most major colonial banks in the inner colonies, seconded only by the Molnar colonial bank headquartered on Reach, or at least it had been until early January of last year. Unlike the Molnar, the company didn't have to worry about a bombing disrupting their business operations. They were dealt an arguably worse hand than their competitors in becoming the center of operations for an alien occupation force. It also consequently served as their target building, one all of Convoy-10 was fighting to reach.

They went ahead of the other convoys using several subterranean tunnels to drive for the surface of the 3rd Tier. But Covenant forces were still intent on stopping them along the way. Their efforts were mostly stomped out under the coordination of SPNKR-wielding Mongooses, Turret Hogs and Scorpions comprising the different sub-columns.

Sub-column 3 was having a field day the further it went up the 25-degree angled highway. Ghosts with Elite riders shot out of hidden side-passages and maintenance corridors to harass the oncoming convoy. However, the tunnel's restrictive nature limited their movements, making them easier to hit.

Mito released another 6 rockets from the M79 at a quartet of Ghosts flanking from a nearby bypass corridor. The barrage struck out two of the assault vehicles in flashes of red and blue flames. The last two attempted to veer off their attack path but Duncan struck another with a rocket from his launcher, blowing the Elite clear from its seat so that the vehicle's burning chassis crashed into the sidewalk. The last succumbed to an overwhelming hail of high-caliber fire from the Hog ahead.

"Oorah!" Yuri exclaimed as his turret's triple barrels slowed their rotation. "Hey Nova, Vy dolzhny poprobovat' eto!"

"Maybe later!" She shouted back from the shotgun seat.

"Your loss!" He started up on another trio of Ghosts coming down one of the bicycle lanes. Several turret gunners further up helped chew into their numbers until the last one was reduced to embers of rent metal that corkscrewed past. "Why are they so weak now, are they still sad about 2nd Tier!?"

Hector piloted them around a wrecked Ghost, causing other Hogs and Mongooses coming after them to do the same. "Nah, I think we just got better at killing them! Then again, two things can be true at the same time!"

"No-no, I like first one! Scared enemy isn't fun enemy, not unless you poke it enough!"

"Then let's keep poking!" Mito said, firing another barrage ahead of them towards a plasma cannon crew entrenched in a passing service corridor. The two Grunts were reduced to bloody splotches before they could get off more than a few bursts. Passing the corridor, Duncan could see several waddling shadows moving in the darkness within. His next rocket raced in after the fleeing group. He heard the explosion's reverberation as well as the last echoing screams of his targets.

The exit to the two-way passage appeared less than a hundred meters along the path of their ascent. The Staff planted a Nav point on it. "Eyes up Epsilon, once we're out we'll be trespassing on Covie real estate. Prioritize corners and rooftops. Shoot only what you can hit, leave anything else for the tanks.

"It'll be our real estate soon enough." Nova commented.

"Soon." The Staff said.

The vanguard of their sub-column emerged out into the open where the sounds of fighting only intensified.

"Here we go."

The vacillating blue lights at the rim of the exit passed over them far faster than Duncan was expecting. They drove down a small black-and-yellow streaked ramp onto a tarmac highway.

Hundreds of skyscrapers were sprawled out in every direction, even well beyond the skyline. Braced and wall-framed high-rises dominated their surroundings. Many of the diamond-shaped buildings held decorative Romanesque pillars on their outer verandas and lower observation platforms. Most followed a black or gray painting scheme with white accents, the glare from their thousands of shining windows amplifying Aquilla's sunlight. It was almost beautiful. Almost.

Blue and green plasma flashed overhead from Covenant soldiers on the streets. Cannons spewed silvery blue torrents from deployable lookout towers and behind energy barriers at the dozens of Hogs and Mongooses streaming past. Marines and 53rd personnel responded in kind with devastating machine gun and rocket salvos while they continued past, heading east.

"Targets coming up!" The Staff shouted, pushing the accelerator to lessen the time that the upcoming Shade would have to target them. Mito set his sights on the emplacement swiveling towards them on the sidewalk. The M79 pounded its circular frame until it flared up, leaving behind its smoldering remains.

Duncan switched to his MA37 to pickoff softer targets that presented themselves in the form of a band of retreating Jackals. He put ten-round bursts into their unprotected backs, dropping three. The Elite Minor leading them turned about just to have its agape mouth and everything else filled with hot lead from Yuri's turret. He diced through its shields to add one more carcass to the mix.

The high-pitched resonance of a beam round zipped onto the road ahead, eliciting a spray of blood from the skull of a nearby Hog driver. The man flew out from his seat to tumble down the highway. His driverless Hog still had enough residual speed to veer into their path.

The Staff banked right around the driverless Hog. They swerved onto the pedestrian walkways where dozens of Grunts hurled themselves out of the way or risked getting sucked under the front tires. Duncan spent his second magazine on two approaching suicide Grunts wielding plasma grenades, keeping his head down to avoid the stray shots of their comrades. He made easy work of them. However, the Hog couldn't make easy work of the blue-armored Elite that they subsequently slammed into. It clung to the hood while its boots screeched over the concrete at 40 miles per hour. It roared at them. Duncan grabbed the windshield and pulled himself up to aim into the split-jaw's face. He kept squeezing the trigger as the creature's head mercilessly snapped back under the bullet assault until its shields shattered and his magazine reached its end. Still, it refused to let go. He gun-butted it in the face a few times to finally help it along. It disappeared with a THUMP under the chassis.

Because of his racing heartbeat he didn't hear the 6 rockets Mito was shooting upwards before the last one shot out. He saw that he was aiming at the scores of sniper jackal silhouettes on the rooftops. The explosions blew out windows on one building and enveloped the squawking enemy marksmen that failed to run from the edge.

"Not bad Irish!" The Staff said. "Next time though, use a baseball bat!"

"Or a sword! How about it, Mito, after this I could try it out!?"

Mito leveled the smoking pods of the M79 as its chambers recycled. "You'll have to get in line, Irish!" He paused to help another Rocket hog bombard a lookout tower whose cannons had just wiped out a mongoose crew. The platform was pushed off its gravitational lift then detonated mid-fall, taking the Grunt team out with it. "But before that, I've got to do something else with it first!"

Duncan drilled half a magazine into the unshielded chest of an Elite being bullied by a turret gunner. It bowled over onto the streets with a few stray shots from its plasma rifle. "I'll hold you to that when we win!"

The Staff drove them around a line of parked vans to tail Hector's Hog. "I would keep my cards close to my chest if I were you, boys!"

Duncan slapped a new mag into his rifle. "You don't think we can win, sir!?".

"It's not over till it's over!"

Just as Duncan was about to answer the bark of a cannon did instead. A throng of nearby Jackals were swallowed up in the wrath of a tungsten shell. He peeked over his shoulder to see the Scorpions grinding their way out of the sub-tunnel exit. Already they were blasting into the larger emplacements that the rest of the convoy weren't able to dispatch. They brought up the rearguard in a display of lightning-fast cannonades and busted enemy vehicles with the Marine ground-pounders coming up beside them.

Further back in the western skies he glimpsed the UNSC Tower of Babel. The destroyer was well above the 3rd Tier but was sticking close to the 2nd Premiere Wall. It was busy launching several Archer missiles down onto different locations across the promenade. "Looks like the other convoys are fully engaged!"

"And we're about to be too!" The Staff pointed further along the highway where it met a complex interchange of expressways spanning above a lower section of the Scenic District. The vanguard was turning down two off-branching expressways that curved back southwest from their previously east-bound path.

Soon Epsilon's Hogs were steering down the looping interchange with the others.

"Get ready Epsilon! From here it's a straight shot to the Luna Alta's front yard!"

The ODSTs flashed their acknowledgement lights. They waited like the other servicemen driving around them as the curving descent slowly leveled out onto another groundside highway. The lower section of the city notably had plots of grass framing the roadway, probably what was left of the original flora pre-urbanization.

They zipped past the visible, concrete foundations of neighboring skyscrapers, under the shadows of overpasses linking the higher levels and around the fleets of abandoned vehicles littering what gradually, lane by lane, became an open freeway.

No one came out to stop them. It was close to unnerving that the path leading to their target was left unguarded. Duncan wondered where the garrisons were that had probably been here earlier. He didn't have to guess. Rather, he saw them as they came out onto a commercial area with a number of skyscrapers distinguishably taller than most in the city. One of them, an octagonal-sided structure with three segmented sections, was so tall that he had to crane his neck just to see its full extent.

Smoke billowed out from what looked like interior explosions on multiple floors. It was human ordnance judging by the extent of the damage.

What weren't human were the slew of Covenant soldiers pressing their way into the building on all sides. A quick look around revealed that they were actually part of a concentration of Covenant forces diffused around a wide, marble-tiled plaza at least a full square kilometer in size. Many more manned positions near the stony benches, inactive fountains and decorative rectangular pools. The plaza itself was divided into several square plots each surrounding one of the larger buildings. The building in the very middle was nearly the tallest, its black paint and diamond-like composition complemented by a silvery logo near the middle: 'Luna Alta'. The bulk of the enemy were concentrated there.

Groups of Hogs and Mongooses were zooming across the north and south sides of the Luna Alta, shooting and running over Covenant forces stationed there. The rest of Ludowski's Convoy-10 had arrived, though notably without their tanks. It wouldn't be an even fight for long without them. They would simply have to make do until they reached them.

The Warrant Officer came in on the comms. "Ludowski to Sub-3, 1 and 2 are securing the northern and southern sides of the target building! You take the east! We've got 3 minutes to secure this plaza for the Spartans!"

The convoy was barreling into the crowds of gathered hostiles seconds before he even finished relaying his orders. Sub-column 3 broke off into separate units to commence smaller action across the plaza.

Epsilon took a route leading to the eastern entrance, joined shortly by a Marine squad manning both a Turret and Rocket hog, the driver of the latter nodding off to the Staff.

Duncan winced as a Grunt managed to jump and hang onto his side of the vehicle with an angry squeal. He gun-butted it in the face, dislodging its grip so that it tumbled away. But its plasma pistol landed in his lap, something he knew right away would come in handy.

Suppressing fire from two of the eight Shade Turrets manning the area in front of the eastern entrance made it clear that his recent luck was probably skin-deep.

All 8 Shades were focusing on different crews driving past. Epsilon and the Marines took advantage of their split attention to make a quick strafing run on the two nearest emplacements. They got within 10 meters before battering them with the first rocket volley then cycled around for a second run.

Midway through their rotation, Yuri shouted, "Wraiths incoming!"

Their attention shifted to the eastern streets where a dozen Wraith tanks were pushing out onto the outer plaza. Swarms of Drones flew out from behind them to flow over the area. Clouds of hundreds of the brown-and gold creatures buzzed overhead, thundering irritable screeches and releasing a growing rain of green plasma on the ground below. Though most of it was uncoordinated, sporadic instances of organized fire evaporated entire pockets of human resistance. Others yanked drivers and gunners away from their Hogs to be torn apart in the swarm. In their advance they quickly began breaking up into smaller groups of 10 and 20 at a time to pursue lone vehicles. With sheer numbers they grabbed hold of and completely immobilized the rides of less fortunate crews. They paralyzed them long enough for Wraiths to lob balls of silvery-blue fire that swallowed up both the UNSC targets and the insects keeping them still.

Duncan hadn't imagined they would commit to sacrificial friendly fire. But it was the Covenant. The tactic was effective at allowing the less-maneuverable enemy armor to neutralize the comparatively faster crafts.

As more and more crews began to fall, the Staff issued new orders. "Ep-4, your on point! Ep-5, use your turret to keep the buggers off of us! Ep-2, you're on defense! Ep-10, use that M79 to buss those Wraiths wide open!"

The squad flashed their acknowledgement lights and moved forward as part of 10 other Hogs turning about to face the incoming tanks. They would either need to force them to retreat, destroy them or stall until the Scorpions arrived. Their objectives varied by the degree of ordnance in their possession as well as the size of the swarm they ran into.

Epsilon faced a group of 20 Drones, originally two separate groups that rushed from burning wrecks to meet them. The gathering momentarily cut off the sight of the nearest Wraith sitting on a three-way bordering the plaza's eastern edge. The screeching aliens swept forward in a flurry of plasma.

Hector gunned it through them. Some of the braver bugs smashed harmlessly off his windshield. Yuri handled the smarter ones shooting from above, sparing the first four just the right amount of attention from his turret to reduce them to splashes of yellow gore. He stuck behind the limited cover provided by his triple-barreled weapon to dodge their replies and did the same to the next four. They fell out of the sky as two more landed atop the hood to start banging mercilessly on the surface, each hammering blow denting it more than the last. Nova shot a few 3-round bursts into the torso of either one so that they fell away.

In fighting the buggers, they were inadvertently kept from noticing that the chosen Wraith had turned to face them. It fired.

Hector swerved off so that they veered along the edge of the plaza. The energy mortar landed less than a few meters away. As they sped off Yuri kept exchanging fire with the Elite on the tank's plasma cannon.

What the Wraith probably wasn't expecting when it turned back was to see another Hog, this one with missile pods as well as an overloaded plasma pistol aiming straight for it. Once they were within 20 meters Duncan released the overcharged bolt from his newly acquired pistol. It raced like a green ghost over the three-way to splash across the gunner's face. The bolt did much more than break the Elite's shields as energy sparked and rippled across the tank's hull. The energy mortar detracted and the entire craft collapsed onto the tarmac. But the gunner, though dazed, was still able to start another stream of rapid plasma bolts that etched over the Hog.

The Staff turned left, staying steady for Mito to get off a barrage. All six rockets impacted the Wraith's vulnerable hull, producing bursts of blue energy from the inside.

As they turned off for the M79 to cycle chambers, the Wraith came back online, minus its gunner who'd been killed outright. Its energy mortar tracked them.

"No-you-don't!" Duncan released another overcharged bolt that struck its hull before it could get off another shot. The EMP immediately shut it back down. The Staff brought them back around for a final attack run. Mito unleashed his second barrage that finished it off. A series of smaller interior explosions blew outward to crack the exterior in half. They drove away victoriously from its smoking remains and regrouped with Hector's Hog.

Epsilon split their focus between fighting tanks and destroying the Shades to secure the Spartans' extraction route. They drove along the front area of the Luna Alta's eastern entrance to assault the enemy turrets until they either blew them apart or put the gunner out of commission. Then they swung back around for the next two Wraiths in their sector. One had positioned itself at an avenue bordering the plaza. It fell after Hector's Hog distracted it from the front while the Staff flanked behind to give Mito a clear shot on its exhaust port. The other had cut them off from the freeway their sub-column had used to reach the Luna Alta. Bruised and battered, it was about to succumb to attacks from several different Hogs performing hit and runs from various directions when a tungsten shell thundered into its back, killing it outright.

Shortly after that the first Scorpions came rolling down the freeway. The first line of battetanks pushed past the dead Wraith to fan out across the plaza. Their cannons got to work pummeling the larger Drone swarms hanging in the air above. One salvo after another tore away their numbers. Fire their machine guns whittled them down further. The arrival of Marine platoons coming behind the tanks added to the action.

To the north and south of the Luna Alta more tanks and Marines were arriving on the scene, bringing up the rear-guard of the other two sub-columns. They similarly began breaking down the hovering swarms and eliminating the remaining Wraiths around the plaza's outer edges.

In under a minute the local garrison was reduced to a third of its original strength. That number was halved then halved again until what little remained had either retreated or was systematically wiped out.

Then everything became quiet save for the echoes of the battle unfolding at the promenade.

Warrant Officer Ludowski came over the comms. "All forces begin establishing a three-layered perimeter. Sub-1 will take the outer streets. Sub-2, you're on the plaza. Sub-3, stick close to the building. Get into your positions, let's go."

The slowing action was replaced with a growing roar of burbling engines. The different elements of Convoy-10 began slipping into place, forming three staggered lines of Scorpions, Hogs and Mongooses, their weapons aimed outward at the surrounding cityscape. With their formation they had cut off the Luna Alta from the encompassing area as well as any potential counterattack. Now all that remained was to hold fast while the Spartans took care of business on the inside.

:********:

The Master Chief was in the middle of unloading a clip into the torso of the 14th Elite to run through the entrance when the comms came back on. It was Ludowski. "Be advised Blue Team, goal post is wide open, over?"

"Copy that. Blue-3, get on it!"

"Roger!" Fred disengaged from his cover to sprint down an aisle between cubicles. He fired back with his MA5B and struck two eager Grunts that had tried to get the better of him. He slipped around another cubicle near the windows, kicked through the rectangular glass of the closest and grabbed the SPNKR off the work table behind him. He crouched to stabilize himself while he aimed out at an adjacent floor on the Luna Alta. He squeezed off a shot that flew out with a THUMP. His roped harpoon spiraled across 200 meters in less than a few seconds to crash through a window.

Fred tested the rope to make sure it was taught then pulled out the head of the other harpoon from the munitions case. Linked to the first by the same rope, he stabbed it into the ceiling. This one beeped twice before it's base opened outward into smaller hooks that latched onto the ceiling. He pulled the line again to test the connection.

"We're in business!"

The Chief nodded to Linda on his left then to Kelly on his right. Linda displaced from her cubicle. She ran to Fred's side and they both took out handlebars. They slapped the magnetic clasps onto the line. Linda took a running start. She raised her legs at the edge so that she glided away on the zipline. Fred followed her lead.

Kelly slipped out from her cover to fire buckshot into a group of Drones that flew inside, spattering their remains over the office space. "I got you covered, Chief!"

"Copy!" The Chief took out a frag, lobbed it into the gathering horde and dashed for the zipline. Kelly covered his retreat for him to reach her. The grenade exploded behind them, sending several Grunts and their Elite leader flying across the room.

"You better be right on my six, Chief." Kelly said as she hooked her handlebar into place.

He slipped his onto the line behind hers. "On your six."

Kelly took her running start then leaped out.

Plasma fire raced after the Chief. He grasped the handlebar with one hand while shooting back with his M6 as he glided away.

The reinforced grips of the handlebars held the weight of the four Spartans in their race over the air. The Chief took the chance to glance down. The plaza far below was littered with Covenant corpses and UNSC vehicles, some of which burned and lay derelict. Most were fully operational.

Some of the crews spotted Blue Team. A cheer began from Marines and Armored personnel on the ground that waved up at them, raising fists as they passed over their heads.

"That's a welcoming sight." Fred said.

"One we don't get to see every day, hey Blue-4?" Kelly harped.

But Linda was busy sighting down her DMR to shoot the Covenant in the building they'd left. The Chief saw some of the Grunts firing plasma at the base of their zipline, likely trying to break it. He and Linda picked off the several methane-breathing nuisances that had picked up on their ploy.

The Elites among them looked like they were beginning to figure out what their slain companions were getting at by the time the first Spartans reached the Luna Alta. Kelly had landed inside when an energy sword cut the base of the line. The Chief was sent into a free-fall

He fell 10 meters before the others caught the end of the line again. They quickly pulled him back up to them. When he was close enough, Kelly reached out and grabbed his hand to hoist him inside.

Not even phased, he pointed to an open door on the other side of the office area that they found themselves in. Blue Team proceeded onward, their guards up and weapons raised.

:********:

Epsilon's Hogs were setup in front of the eastern entrance as part of the last defensive line. The spot allowed Duncan to see the Spartans zip over to the Luna Alta. He got a little worried when he saw the Master Chief nearly fall to his death some 500 meters below, then relaxed when the others pulled him up.

Nova whistled from the other Hog. "That was close."

"Very." Duncan said. "You think that prophet's really still hanging around?"

She shrugged. "Who knows. I'd figure that 058 is their best sniper. If she took the shot, it wouldn't make sense for that thing to still be breathing right now."

"Stranger things have happened." Hector noted.

An unusual object in the corner of Duncan's vision drew his attention to what looked like a Covenant holo-pedestal outside one of the doors. However, unlike the others he'd seen up to this point, this one had a different, darker-purple design. Its distinguishably larger leaf-like patterns around the rim made him positive it was something new. "Have they?"

He hopped out of the Hog and pointed to the pedestal. "Hey Ep-1, can I check it out?"

The Staff sized up the machine. "Go ahead, but be quick about it."

Duncan hustled over to the device. A cursory look-over told him it was offline. He waved his hand over the surface and it warmed. Recognizable glyphs appeared in a rotating pattern. He pressed one that would lead him to an active broadcast.

The prophet's image flickered to life, already speaking. Renni's software began translating the words into English. He was praying. There were words like 'damnation' and 'salvation' being flung around like mad. "So...he is alive. Or at least he looks that way."

Without a translator of their own, the noise caught the uneasy attention of a few Mongoose crews close to the pedestal. He stopped the broadcast.

Then he noticed a button that hadn't been there before, not on the other pedestals anyway. While most of the alien calligraphy had chromosomal depictions, this one had more in common with something he'd seen a few times in a high-school history class: Sumerian Cuneiform.

It was four cones: two pointed down so that they touched either side of the third's upward facing tip. The fourth intersected the middle of the three shapes to point right. He tentatively raised his hand over it. The translation suite read it as: "Feed Routing".

He looked left and right down the area of the entrance, spotting two of the same special holo-pedestals, adding confirmation to his revelation. There was no mistaking it. What he had here was a groundside relay network comprised of these pedestals. If he was correct, perhaps these were the mediums the Minister had been using for the last three days to send his broadcast throughout the city. Pressing it, hundreds of smaller, more lengthy glyphs appeared with lines connecting to the pseudo-cuneiform symbol. His translator showed that they were identification numbers for the standard holo-pedestals set throughout High Mediolanum as well as their coordinates.

He fought the urge to let his jaw drop after considering something else. The extensive control these relays had connotated that they could potentially reroute a signal to a different origin for it to be broadcasted from there, like another holo-pedestal with enough power...or an underwater command and control center.

What chance was there that that same, black-armored Elite had used these devices to trick them into going to that C&C? It was almost sickening to think that they could have made the UNSC waste so much time, energy and nearly lives just by pressing a few glyphs.

His contemplations were redirected as he encountered a reception symbol unlike the rest. It was an inverted 'U' that read: 'Uncategorized Addition'. Strangely, the coordinates for it were close, too close. In fact, it was right on top of him. No, that wasn't it. Then it hit him like a hammer to the head.

Someway, somehow, the pedestal was recognizing him as a broadcasting reception point, or more specifically, his armor.

"Well, that's weird." Maybe it was because he had interacted with Covenant systems prior to this. Perhaps not. The only thing he could think of that could possibly make him a broadcasting point was his...helmet cam, but how could it even know about that?

The next powerful revelation nearly floored him.

This machine, or perhaps all of the machines like it, had gained access to his armor because he had accessed their systems. That meant it was interacting with his BDU's BIOS software every time he made contact. Neither Renni nor the tutorial her translation software came with had warned him about that possibility. Was it a glitch or just an unforeseen circumstance that even the ONI-techs couldn't have anticipated while reverse-engineering Covenant tech, that it would recognize the hybrid system as though it were a friendly system? Frankly speaking, this holo-pedestal was mistaking him for a Covenant soldier.

How it was doing that exactly was lost on him. He didn't get long to think about it. His focus drifted again to another symbol slightly below the first, following a similar triangular cuneiform pattern. However, its three triangles had their backs to each other and pointed outward. It read: 'Reroute to contact'.

Now that was interesting. He slowly reached for it. His finger made contact. The glyph blinked once then every other reception symbol was highlighted, including the one recognizing his armor. He glanced at the Staff who was still checking the surrounding area like everyone else.

He had a hunch that he felt he needed to act on now or he wouldn't get the chance later.

"Here goes." He pressed his own symbol. It blinked twice. Every other glyph faded around it. But the inverted 'U' kept blinking. He considered something and, with hesitation, turned on his helmet cam.

The moment he did, the pedestal emitted a new image. It was a projection of itself and the doors behind it. It took him a few seconds to realize that what he was looking at was his own point of view coming from his helmet feed. He slowly turned left towards two pedestals further down. Like a mirror, they projected the image of themselves as he turned towards them. He looked right to see the same thing on those pedestals as well, then took a few steps back to test the connection. The feed never faded.

He quickly flicked off his helmet camera, feeling as if he'd run a marathon and won. His discovery was groundbreaking. It showed a new level of connective potential between human and Covenant systems, a potential that could have even greater ramifications for the wider war. He felt himself about to tell Nova what he found, only to be stopped. His gaze fell on a pulsating circle with a smaller circle on its circumference accompanied by a numerical glyph at the center. The function appeared next to the other he'd pressed last.

He waved his hand over it: 'Broadcasting Radius - 30 meters'

If he was floored before, he was through the floor now. These devices had a broadcasting range of 100 kilometers, or at least that was how much he knew about. Did that mean that if he wanted to, he could actually-

"Banshees inbound!" Yuri shouted, aiming his turret up towards the sky.

Duncan came back to the real world to finally notice the low roar and occasional thrust of multiple propulsion drives, so many that he couldn't hear any singular engine. He turned back around.

At first, he saw a squadron of Banshees crest the surrounding skyscrapers. They were immediately followed by many more that maneuvered around the sides of the outer buildings in a manner befitting sharks hunting on the seafloor. They were all headed in the direction of the Luna Alta.

:********:

Field Marshall Duracomee was both impressed and horrified at the minister's...gambit. Whether it had paid off or not remained to be seen. Nevertheless, he had shown a sacrificial willingness accustomed to his own kin, the Sangheili. To plan so well in advance for a moral boost such as this was something that could only be done by a master tactician, one that did not value his own life over that of his subordinate's need for high-spirits. In that regard, he was impressed beyond all measure.

In another regard, he was horrified beyond all understanding, as with the Minister's decision to stay he had also sealed his fate and that of every warrior in the city. There was no other way now to atone for the loss that had been hoisted onto them, one they were certain not to know about until long after they'd won or never if they all perished. A price was paid to give them a chance at victory, and it was the Minister of Iconography, Avuum Rezzic, who'd paid it.

At the very least it would be Duracomee to suffer the consequences of the prophet's decision no matter how this battle ended. Win or lose, he was dead. That fact had begun sinking in ever since he saw the human sniper round sever Rezzic's throat and throw him clear of his throne. That reality was only just beginning to settle in his soul as his Phantom came closer to the Luna Alta.

The dropship's open hanger gave him a view of the situation. He was hundreds of meters above the battle raging below, purposefully high to avoid the hyper-accurate precision of the human tanks. They proved their accuracy with each Banshee they shot out of the sky that descended upon their three-layered formation. The several major flocks of flyers took up a counter-clockwise formation of their own. They flew around the battlefield with one or two sorties engaging different sections of the enemy forces on the ground. They strafed vulnerable vehicles in groups, blew apart their faster automobiles with plasma torpedoes before withdrawing temporarily. Each squadron came back smaller with each attack, but not without exacting a similar cost on the humans.

It was all meant to create weak-points in the enemy ranks great enough for the incoming Scarabs to exploit. However, a good number of Banshees were getting shot out of their own formation, making him wonder which side would have its weakness revealed first. It was the best tactic he could muster aside from a full, frontal assault. Those were strong in their initial push but gradually their attack power became diluted as the squadrons devolved into multiple single-craft actions, leading to more costly withdrawal attempts. This way he avoided that eventual tactical degradation that less experienced Field Marshalls tended to fall into when dealing with airborne elements.

Regardless, he had to watch many of his warriors die by the handfuls. His regret wasn't that they were dying. They were laying down their lives for the cause of the holy Covenant. His regret was that no matter what he did from hereon, unlike them, he would die with the greatest failure imaginable to his name.

His dropship eventually crossed the airways above the plaza. It began a careful descent down to one of the landing pads on the level where the prophet was located.

He would extract the minister and quickly, less anyone see.

Once his Phantom touched down, he gave a quiet prayer for himself under his breath. He knew he would be meeting the Gods of his ancestors very soon. His sole hope was that those same ancestors could entreat the Gods on his behalf, to spare his lineage and possibly show mercy even to him for a life of devotion. But not even all the faith that the minister, that his clan elders and his brothers had taught him to hold all his life could convince him that that was even a remote possibility.

:********:

Blue Team reached the two sets of doors leading onto the right floor without incident. Linda and Fred braced against the first. The Chief and Kelly took the second.

"Breach in 3...2...move in!"

The Chief and Linda both kicked in their doors and pushed inside with Kelly and Fred coming in close behind.

They entered into a conference hall with two levels. The main level was sectioned off into a rectangular area at the front separated by a short staircase from an ovular section further back. The glass-made upper floor was supported by four large pillars heading down to four upper-decks built along the corners of the level below.

Time slowed as the Spartans entered what was colloquially known among their own as Spartan time, giving them the chance to observe everything.

On the far side, standing on either of the two upper decks were a pair of Elites in red armor. Yellow accented patterns sprung up into arcing horns on their helmets and shoulder pauldrons. They were the ones wielding plasma rifles. The other three on the ground were moving across the ovular section towards a glass door leading out to an executive landing pad. Waiting for them there was a Phantom dropship.

In the split-second between seeing them and time speeding back up, the Chief saw that two of what he presumed to be special guards were carrying something between them. It wore torn purple robes, a shattered headpiece and a head hanging limply from a half-ruptured neck. The prophet's throne lay discarded a stone's throw away, right where it had landed after Linda's first shot.

The Chief's orders were swift. "Blue-3 and 4, target those escorts! Blue-2, on me!"

Kelly joined him in sprinting forward. Fred and Linda sidestepped to cut them a path straight to the prophet. The guards became alert to their presence. One of them escorting the prophet stepped in the way to take Linda and Fred's shots with its energy shields. It roared back at the pair carrying the prophet who started moved faster. But the guards on the upper decks didn't open fire.

The Spartans were completely blindsided by the shower of plasma that was suddenly unleashed on them from either side of the hall. The Chief and Kelly were forced to take cover behind several cyclopean devices at the room's center. He traced the fire to the two upper decks that initially appeared unoccupied. He slowly identified four translucent shimmers.

"Elites, active camo, four on the rear decks! Take them out before-"

A shadow fell over him. He swung around to see that one of the guards had rushed forward to leap over his cover. It stabbed down at him with an energy stove. He dodged right and used the momentum of his sudden turn to deliver a hardy uppercut that blew out its shields. He brought up his rifle but the Elite swapped it aside with its stove then lashed out at his throat. The Chief ducked under it before springing forward to barrel into its stomach. They both toppled into the open.

He came up with a roll, as did his opponent, albeit with a weapon. The Elite lunged forward with its sharpened stove leading. The Chief sidestepped the thrust to his stomach and got a firm grasp of the rod. For a moment the two struggled in a brief tug-a-war.

A hasty reanalysis told the Chief several things. Firstly, that Linda, Kelly and Fred were now engaging the camouflaged enemy. They traded shots while pressing close to the walls of the upper decks to limit the effectiveness of the higher ground. Secondly, the guards on the other decks had jumped down to join the other two going outside. He glimpsed a Phantom occupying the pad where a pair of Ultras received the minister's body from the other guards and brought him aboard, towards the red and blue accented Field Marshall standing in the center. It was glaring back at him, looking furious and also confused.

He refocused on the Elite in front of him and fought to gain control of its stave when a burst of plasma glanced off his shoulder from behind. He gripped the weapon harder and rolled to the side, forcing the guard to turn with him. Now he could see the translucent shimmer nearby.

The other Elite chose that moment to reveal itself from where it stood less than 5 meters away. A familiar black armor reflected the sunlight at odd angles, as did it's V-shaped visor that glowed a menacing red. "Finish with him Demon, so that I may kill you."

He remembered that voice. It was a match to the one he'd heard aboard the C&C, the same Elite that had threatened to end the lives of his entire command on the bottom of the Koronea Sea.

"You."

The guard broke the deadlock in thrusting forward, consequently throwing the Chief onto the floor. He lost his grip. The Elite quickly closed in for an overhead stab.

In anticipation, he brought his arms over his faceplate then, as it thrust down at him, waved out his hand so that the blade deflected off the side of his arm bracer. It plunged harmlessly into the floor near his head. He punched through the metal rod in a shower of sparks. As expected, the guard had put his weight into that thrust and fell forward with nothing to support it. The Chief caught its falling form with his left foot before delivering a devastating kick with his right that snapped its entire head back, cracking its neck.

He got back up, grabbed the corpse and held it like a shield. He searched for the black-armored Elite from before. It was gone.

Plasma bursts struck his 'shield' from another part of the hall. He kept the cadaver close, dragging it along while trading fire.

Ahead, the door to the pad was getting closer. Yet the prophet was growing ever distant. He saw the hanger doors of the Phantom finally beginning to close as it lifted off. A squadron of Six Banshees parked on the adjacent landing pad also began taking to the air.

He dropped the dead body and ran for the doors. He crossed the threshold just as the Phantom shot off towards the east with its Banshee escorts.

He sensed a presence right behind him and ducked underneath the lateral slice of an energy sword. The Chief rolled away onto the pad, coming up to face the black armored Elite that now stood with a red energy sword in hand.

"You have been a thorn in our side for long enough, creature."

As it charged forward, he dipped beneath the first swing, but the alien's knee crashed into his stomach with sufficient force to push him back several meters. He grunted from the pain.

Winded, he looked past his assailant to the room. The rest of Blue Team was preoccupied with three other black-armored Elites. Linda and Fred were exchanging shots with a pair on the upper decks. Kelly was closer, grappling hand in hand with one on the hall's outer-section. She struggled to evade the swift attacks of its two energy daggers while looking for an opening.

That meant he was on his own.

"I am First Blade Officer Utana Nerulee of the Silent Shadows." The Elite in front of him said in clear English. "And I will be the one to send you back to the dark crevice you and your kind crawled out of."

The sight of the alien approaching him with its crimson blade brought a memory to mind. He'd been in a similar situation before during the raid on the 3rd Fleet of Glorious Consequence. After rescuing Doctor Halsey he'd run into an overly-persistent Major that challenged him to a duel, one he had promptly lost. It would have been the end of him too were it not for the intervention of other forces.

Here there would be no such intervention. He'd told the good doctor that day that he had to become stronger. Now, as the Elite lunged forward, he was being given a chance to test that strength.

The Elite known as Nerulee leaped towards him, setting his blade on a course for his neck. The Master Chief leaned forward then suddenly leaped back towards the pad's rimming wall.

Nerulee quickly recovered for another lunge. But this time, the Chief pounced forward so that he slipped just underneath the lunge to catch his wrist one-handed. The other hand powerfully punched the crux of his foe's sword arm, flaring his energy shields and pushing the bones out of joint. The Spartan released him to commit two powerful blows, the first being a heavy uppercut to his helmet's underside, the second an open-palmed strike to his torso that pushed him back a few meters.

The Chief stood before him. "Dark crevice? Want to run that by me again?"

Nerulee's shields shimmered but remained strong, unlike his sword arm which was now probably almost useless. Still, with a raging growl, he persisted forward.

This time the Chief met him with pistol and knife held akimbo. He managed to squeeze off two shots into his enemy's shields before he resorted to ducking and weaving under a myriad of rapid strikes. He jumped over an arcing swing leveled at his knees and drop-kicked the Elite. Nerulee staggered back. As the Chief landed, he rolled back to shoot off three more rounds that pushed the Elite's shields to breaking point.

Nerulee pushed forward with an enraged roar and again closed the distance between them in three succinct strides. His blade swung backwards in an a down-to-up arc that the Chief instinctively knew would be impossible to block. Instead, he barreled over to the side. Yet Nerulee pivoted about with violent grace so that his blade span around for the Spartan's neck.

He ducked beneath it, lunged forward and caught the sword arm mid-swing. But Nerulee grabbed the Chief's shoulder for support as he kicked the side of his helmet with his boot, knocking the super-soldier aside.

The Chief recovered into a crouch as Nerulee spiraled back to the ground and raced forward. However, he couldn't stop the Spartan from firing two more rounds that finally blew out his shields. Then he slipped under another overhead swing to plunge his own combat knife deep into the crux of the Elite's sword arm.

Growling, Nerulee withdrew a few meters to pull out the blade. It granted the Chief a chance to reload. But the Silent Shadow wasn't about to let up and made that clear by tossing a plasma grenade.

The Chief threw himself out of the way before the fiery blue orb could detonate. He heard the rising warble of an energy pistol and saw that Nerulee had loosed an overloaded bolt from his plasma pistol. The Spartan leaped aside. A second bolt followed not long after the first. He felt the heat of the inbound plasma wash over him as he evaded once more. He began noticing a pattern. The direction of each bolt wasn't trying to track him, but to push him to the edge of the pad. Nerulee was trying to corner him.

It worked.

He found himself close to the wall. The Elite rushed towards him, a third overcharged bolt already in the making. He released it before his opponent could get off another shot from his own pistol, the bolt coming low enough and fast enough that it couldn't be dodged without moving further into the corner. The Chief leaped in that direction to avoid the blast of sizzling energy, but Nerulee had followed his trajectory to get even closer and lunged forward.

Not slipping under it or even away from it, the Chief dashed head-on into what would have been a decapitating blow had he not sidestepped at the last moment to deliver a hard elbow to his opponent's visor. The strike knocked the Elite's head hack but his body withstood the momentum and Nerulee grabbed the elbow to hold it in place. He moved to swipe his sword against the Spartan's vulnerable midsection when the sword-arm was recaptured in a vice-grip, now at the dislocated joint.

The Chief squeezed hard, eliciting a pained growl from his enemy. He twisted both the alien's arms over his head to hold them in a restraint lock. He pulled Nerulee's sword arm hard over his shoulder, breaking it with an audible pop. Yet the Shadow refused to even scream. Instead, he kicked the Chief in the back of the leg, forcing his knee to bend so that he fell into a crouch. The Elite rolled over his shoulders with a leftwards twist and reversed the lock, breaking him free to spiral around with his energy sword.

Nevertheless, the Spartan caught his wrist once more, only for Nerulee to punch at him with his freehand. He allowed the blow to be purposefully caught in mid-air so that he could bring his full strength to bear. Nerulee pushed until the soldier's back crashed against the wall of the pad. He began to push down with his blade as if his arm weren't dislocated and broken.

The Chief winced at the sword's heat. No matter what he tried, the blade began to cut into his left arm bracer, treating his MJOLNIR like paper before the flames. Hydrostatic gel began leaking from the wound in his armor. The true pain began once the blade reached his skin.

He could think of only one option.

With a grunt, the Master Chief raised a boot and slammed it as hard as he could into Nerulee's knee. The force was so incredible that it pushed the entire joint a few inches backwards, making the Elite cry out in agony. He seized the opportunity to pull them both over the wall.

They tumbled over each other down the half-meter slope leading to the very edge of the pad, neither letting go of the other. The Chief timed it so that he was the last one able to grab hold of a divot in the slope's edge while letting go of Nerulee. He whipped out his M6 just as the Elite spun around to lash out one last time.

He pulled the trigger, sending a single round through Nerulee's visor that came out the back of his head.

First Blade Officer Nerulee released his sword as his own blood flew out around him. His red visor flickered offline as his limp body succumbed to gravity's claim, falling hundreds of meters to the plaza below.

Checking himself, the Chief saw that his numbers '117' were sliced diagonally by a glowing gash cut across his chest. It had been a close call, far too close. Had he shot the Elite even a split-second later than he had, that fight would have ended with no obvious winner.

The Phantom and its escorts were little more than dots now that continued shrinking into the east. He switched on the comms, turning to the UNSC-wide E-band frequency. "This is Sierra-117 to all UNSC forces, the prophet is confirmed KIA. I repeat, the prophet is KIA. What's playing now is a prerecording. Covenant forces are withdrawing to the east from the Luna Alta via Phantom dropship with the body. Possible Covenant commander is also onboard. Requesting immediate pursuit by anyone in the area. I repeat, break off and pursue, over."

He watched the dropship grow ever distant. However, he was surprised when he looked directly below it. Even before he'd finished his orders, someone was already giving chase. Two dots he discerned to be Warthogs were racing after them via a highway. Whoever they were, they were going where there would be no back-up, and they had to have known that.

"Chief."

He turned to see Kelly who was reaching over the edge for him. He took her hand and she pulled him back up onto the pad.

"How're the others?"

She nodded back to the door.

Sure enough, Fred and Lina were both making their way out onto the pad. In the room behind them they'd left three dead Silent Shadows lying in pools of their own blood. Judging by the glowing scratches and plasma scoring on their armor, it'd been a close fight.

"So, what do we do now Chief?" Fred asked.

The Master Chief looked back to the ever-distant dots then to the fighting unfolding on the plaza. There was still work to be done here.

"We'll help Convoy-10 out first, then see if we can find a ride to go after them."

"If they're still in the city by then." Linda added.

"I saw someone pursuing already. There's a chance they'll slow that Phantom down."

"What makes you think that?" Kelly asked.

The Chief could see the Warthogs finally disappear as they drove onto another highway.

"Just a feeling."

Kelly, Linda and Fred shared knowing looks. He turned back to eye Blue Team. He didn't have to see their faces to know that despite the setback they were more than ready for another round.

"Alright Spartans, let's move out."

Allucinato - Illusion


	60. Battle of Actium - Chapter 22 (Huz)

Chapter 22 – Huz

May 10th, 2545 (08:35 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Outer edges of Katerini Block, Near 2nd Premiere Wall

:********:

To Colonel Garrison, the landscape of the 3rd Tier's promenade was little more than a cobblestone strip of burning vehicles and buildings. To the Covenant, it must have looked more like a massive funeral pyre, one most of them seemed eager to run into.

The siege of the Scenic District was underway with one wave of Covenant Soldiers folding over the other in a near endless stream of opposition.

Garrison's Column C had departed from Sycion and made their way up the 2nd Premiere Wall via Gatehouse-9 through 12. The Armored elements went onto the lift platforms first, and they were the first to roll off into the fray when the fighting began on the promenade. But the Scorpion Tanks weren't the first ones off. Instead, the M313 Heavy Recovery Vehicles or 'Elephants' were sent in ahead of everyone.

Having taken some inspiration from seeing the Olifants in action at the Eden Mall back in Ano Liosia, Colonel Mentieth decided on a new means of countering the expected enemy defenses. Yesterday, the UNSC Carchemish had come back from its trip to Treviso, having arrived with a new cargo from the 53rd's Base near New Verona.

The gift to the UNSC forces of Task Force 1 were dozens of Elephants. The 3-story tall vehicles were 14 meters wide, measured nearly twice that in length and packed enough armor to push a platoon of Marines straight through the thickest enemy ground fire...and they had been deployed to do just that.

Like Garrison's Column C at Gatehouses 9 through 12, Colonel Mentieth's Column B had launched from 15 through 18 in Kastoria and Lieutenant Colonel Serakovich's Column A was sent to 21 through 25 and 27 from Veria. Two Elephants were assigned to each individual gatehouse along with a contingent of Scorpions, Hogs, Marines and ODSTs that would accompany them into the 3rd Tier. The moment the lift platforms' ramps descended, the heavy vehicles were the first ones off, going guns blazing into the chaos beyond.

The Covenant made no pretext of attempting to draw them in. They had already taken up positions behind the dead traffic lines of vans, trucks and cars left behind by the city's denizens. The overhanging skyscrapers also allotted them greater defensive capacities since they could use their various windows to fire down on the encroaching threat. It seemed the Covenant were intent on pulling out all the stops, even adding Wraiths and Ghosts to the mix, the former usually taking positions down off-branching streetways. That way they could set down fire on human forces from a safe distance. The latter moved in pods of four intent on keeping them contained to the immediate areas surrounding the lift platforms.

What the Covenant hadn't counted on were two factors: The fire support of the UNSC Tower of Babel and thespeed and power of the Elephants.

Combat Controllers armed with radio sets and H-165 Target Locators were marking enemy positions and vehicular units on the ground for the Babel's bridge crew. Not long after a target was painted with the characteristic red perimeter circle, usually in less than five seconds, a hailstorm of seven missiles would descend on whatever was highlighted. The collective efforts of at least 12 binaries of ODST and Marine Combat controllers in their sector created a perpetual rain of missiles. Destruction pounded across the promenade as well as the outer streets, destroying areas of traffic lanes and reducing initial positions of heavy resistance into cinders and splashes of blue gore. Still, the rules of engagement applied, meaning there would be no ordnance drops on the surrounding skyscrapers. The danger of causing one of them to block the path of advancing UNSC forces or even worse, to collapse on top of them, kept the Babel's offensive options limited to the promenade and outer streets. That left clearing the buildings to the boots on the ground who did more than their fair share of the job.

The Heavy Recovery Vehicles or Elephants moved fast, crashing through the initial lines of abandoned cars before the enemy could react. Their crews used firing ports to shoot down Covenant that scrambled away around them while others in front of the behemoth were crushed beneath their enormous treads.

Garrison had led the push from Gatehouse-9 atop one of the two Elephants. He was thus among the first to enter onto the promenade with an entourage of Scorpions and Warthogs close behind. He'd helped himself to the M41 Light Anti-Aircraft Gun setup on the third level near the driver's cabin. While the position was utterly exposed, it provided him the best vantage point from which to raise hell on anything and everything moving below that wasn't human.

After stitching high-caliber holes through a squad of Grunts cowering behind a passing garbage truck he swiveled leftward to drill into the shield of a Hunter. He pinned it behind its barrier long enough for a Scorpion to punch it in the side with a tungsten shell. The creature promptly fell over, its worms spilling onto the cracked tarmac at its feet.

He spotted a squad of Marines that had gotten slightly ahead to engage a group of Shield Jackals wedged between a few cars. Several lengthy bursts from his turret shredded through half of them so that the Marines could finish off the other half with ease.

A trio of pink needler rounds bounced off the side of his gun palisades, drawing his attention over to an orange-armored Major racing between the traffic lanes on his right. He gave it a well-deserved concentration of 99-millimeter rounds that tore away its shields and painted the street around it a fresh shade of blue.

"Red-Actual to Neptune-Actual, might want to deal with that little congregation on your left, over?"

Garrison followed the direction over to an intersection that they were passing, lying between the cobblestone promenade and the beginning of the highway leading to Gatehouse-9's lift platform. A small platoon of Covenant were putting up a last-ditch effort to hold the line using deployable energy barriers, barricades and cars for cover. They were one of several surviving pockets along this section of the promenade between Gatehouse-9 and 10. Their efforts were quickly becoming a moot point thanks to the four Elephants pushing through their lines, forcing the dead traffic lanes out of the way for those coming up behind them. For this pocket, it was being sandwiched between Garrison's Elephant and another whose topside-gunner, Colonel Taylors, was already opening fire.

"Roger that Red-Actual." He switched to a different commlink. "Neptune to Able-1 and Able-3, we need to provide salvation for some lost souls 20 meters to our northwest."

"Copy that." The two ODSTs said. Two gunports opened on the starboard side of the Elephant and a pair of triple-barrels pressed through it to start their deadly rotation.

Garrison brought his own M41 to bear on the group below. Six streams of heavy fire ripped into the Covenant soldiers from the left and right, three from either Elephant. The crisscrossing cascade whittled down their barriers, stripped away their barricades and eviscerated the enemies hiding behind them. In under 10 seconds the last Grunt spiraled into the air on trails of methane leaking from a bullet-riddled gas-tank that blew up not long after.

"Sector clear." Garrison said when movement caught his eye.

As the Marines and ODSTs advanced, the nearby buildings around the promenade were becoming more and more occupied. One of them, a skyscraper to the east, was their main concern.

He recognized the blue and white-accented triangle sign on it as belonging to the Freighter Insurance Company Far Delta. The labeling right beneath that branded it a 'System Headquarters confirmed as much. He'd been in one of those buildings before, back on Miridem when he, Mentieth and Major General Horvath had planned the assault on the De Gaulle Starport. Now the enemy was the one occupying it en masse.

Dozens of Elites and Jackals were moving along the different levels of office spaces. Their movements were visible through the glass windows, many of which they began shooting or breaking open to provide them with superior firing positions on UNSC forces advancing across the promenade. They were doing the same inside two parallel buildings to the right and left of the headquarters.

"Neptune to Red-Actual, got my sights on Far Delta and two other buildings to the southeast and northeast. Covies are lining up for us."

"I see'em.'" Taylors replied. "Recommend we take care of Far Delta since it's the biggest. I'll get my boys on the other Elephant to target that LLC on the northeast."

"Copy, I'll have my people do the same with that southeast partnership." He switched links. "Able-1 and Able-3, we've got new targets." He set a Nav point on the Far Delta Building then switched links again, waving over to the topside gunner on another Elephant to the south of his own. "Goliath-1, set sights on that partnership building. Don't leave any scraps for the Jarheads coming in behind you."

"Roger that." The ODST said and began relaying orders to the cabin driver.

All four Elephants, like the other four further south down the promenade, began lining up to face their targets, crunching over the last of the traffic lanes to get closer. The Covenant troops within the buildings waited for them to get in range, then opened fire.

"Spool up!" Garrison began stuttering his reply across the most occupied levels of the Far Delta building, eliciting bursts of plasma, shattered glass and blue blood. The Elephant turned slightly to port to provide the other two gunners with a better visual. They immediately joined him in shattering more rows of windows and more alien bodies standing on the other side. But as a drawback, the portside turn increased the targetable surface area for the several plasma cannon crews operating inside the building. Torrents of plasma washed over the vehicle's tough hide. Though it remained sturdy, concentrated bursts slagged the titanium armor in some places and set it aflame in others.

A lucky burst of plasma struck one of the open firing ports below. He heard screaming from Able-3 as his gun went silent. Able-1 shouted for one of the squad's medics to tend to him and for another to take his place. The screams were drowned out by Garrison's own plight as he homed in on the plasma cannons to take them out one at a time. Though they started to set their sights on him he was fast enough to the draw to silence the last before it could cause too much trouble. By then Able-1 and 5 were backing him up again. Together, with the help of a few hyper-accurate tungsten shells from a pair of tanks sticking close behind, they raked clear the remaining levels. After 30 seconds, the last resistance in the building was cut down, leaving little more than showers of twinkling glass and drops of alien blood that showered over them as they moved on. The same went for the two silenced buildings to the northeast and southeast.

It wasn't long before the next obstacles appeared in the form of squadrons of Phantom dropships that crested and looped around skyscrapers on the edges of the Scenic District. They descended to cut off the UNSC forward elements breaking out from the promenade to the intravenous network of streets and highways.

Three of the dropships came down to hover over the highway that Garrison's Elephant had driven onto. The first two each dropped off a Wraith tank. The third was about to release a lookout tower armed with two active plasma cannons when he shouted, "Able-6, get up here now!"

Private Gadsden ran up the rear ramp onto the topside deck. Unlike before, he was decked out in his radio set as well as a target locater held firmly in one hand. He ran to the Colonel's side near the edge. Garrison pointed him towards the Phantoms in their way. "Get a marker on them!"

"Sir!" Gadsden crouched down, aimed his locator and established a flickering, green beamline on the enemy aircrafts. A moment later a 30-meter-wide red circle appeared on their HUDs, encompassing the 3 dropships while setting a warning triangle on the one at the center.

The salvo from the Tower of Babel came 3 seconds later. Seven of the high-impact missiles arced across the sky to strike the three highlighted targets, destroying the one at the center so that its remains crashed onto the lookout tower below, creating a bright chain reaction that incinerated anything trapped in between. The second Phantom was skewered as a missile punched right through its hull to damage the Wraith directly below. Another missile struck out its tail stabilizers before a third blew into the cockpit, annihilating the pilot and the crew in a rippling explosion. The third dropship managed to veer away only to receive a missile that crippled one of its impulse drives. It flew off with a notable slant, its heavy plasma cannon getting off three concussion shots before it disappeared around a corner. Though two of the shots missed, the third slammed into the Elephant's driver's cabin to blow out the windows in a shockwave.

Garrison eyed the damage. "Sergeant Eberlein, still with us!?"

"...Yeah!" The Sergeant at the controls answered. "And so are those Wraiths!"

The echoing warble of two energy mortars drew the Colonel back to the enemy tanks 50 meters up ahead. Both had lobbed deadly blue comets that were already well on their way. With his turret he started working on the tank left wounded by the missile strike. "Charlie Team, get on the deck! We've got targets!"

The Marines from Charlie Team, one of a platoon from Serakovich's 1st Battalion sitting in the cargo bay below, responded with praiseworthy speed. They reached the top deck just as the energy mortars landed on the tarmac, having overshot the Elephant by an uneasy distance.

Four of the SPNKR-wielding Marines ran past the built-in crane to take aim at the enemy armor then set loose a rocket each. Garrison had weakened both of the Wraiths to the degree that the pair of rockets heading for either one was sufficient to snuff them out.

He allowed himself to relax a little as they passed by their broken and smoldering remains. Only a little. There was still work to be done, and something told him that all that had only been the easy part.

Behind him, he heard the last metallic creaking of the hydraulic gears that finished bringing Gatehouse-9 up to the gateway's threshold. He'd sent it back down like the others in this sector to get more elements of Column C onto the 3rd Tier. Their collective lift platforms folded down, releasing a fresh flood of hundreds of Marines in combat green, ODSTs in their black BDUs and storms of 53rd vehicular elements that poured out onto the promenade. They filtered around the deadened remains of the previous enemy defenses to link with friendlies already fanning out into the skyline. Then the gatehouses were off again to bring in the next batch.

Further back, Pelicans and Hornets began flying over the wall and into the 3rd Tier. Some of the Hornets hovered above the newly reforming convoys as they streamlined into the Scenic District. Others escorted myriads of Pelican dropships further into the city to establish forward positions around designated objectives. That way the 24th Air Recon made it easier for everyone coming behind them to reach and secure those already cleared objectives, then continue on to the next in a game of tactical hop-scotch.

Garrison took the temporary lull in the fighting to report in on a private comm-link shared between the commanders. "This is Garrison, me and Taylors have cleared the promenade. We're pushing into the city for our first stops, over?"

"Roger that, doing the same thing on our side." Serakovich replied. "The split-jaws tried a Seraph bombardment on us, didn't work though because of the Babel, thank God."

"I don't think the people that worked on the Tower of Babel were so thankful to the Almighty but hey, to each his own." Major Krauss jeered. "Same goes for us. Me and Mentieth are rolling'em out. Won't be long now before we reach Mount Parnassus and Ossa over on the other side there-"

The sound of a firing cannon cut off his sentence. "I wouldn't worry about the mountains just yet, Major." Mentieth said. "We still need to take this city." There was another cannon shot. "Serakovich, Garrison, Taylors, do what you can to push-on. And remember, we want to minimize collateral damage so the further in we go the less we'll be able to call on fire support from the Babel. Keep that in mind. Mentieth out."

Colonel Taylors' Elephant came in next to Garrison's and matched their speed along the highway. The man on the gun nodded off to him and he returned the gesture.

"You heard him." Taylors said, his grin evident in his voice. "Try to reduce collateral. That'll probably be hard for you, you know, after the pipes and all."

"Your being here is collateral enough in my opinion."

"I think you'll find that statement cuts both ways, Colonel Claus."

"Just know you're still a cyborg in my book so you better live up to that name today."

Taylors yanked back his turret's charging handle then let it slide into place with a fresh belt of ammo. "Sir, yes sir."

The two Colonels began wheeling their weapons from left to right, searching off-branching roadways, passing windows and rooftops for any signs of the enemy. The scores of mobile ground forces forming up behind them echoed their example, checking corners with rifles, turrets and cannons as they moved deeper into the 3rd Tier.

:********:

Duncan watched the second Banshee disappear in a flash of blue-white flames as his rocket caught it in the fuselage. He gave an excited whoop then held on as the Staff turned hard around the circumference of the ovular skyscraper that they were rounding.

Several hundred meters further up and about that same distance in the sky, he could still see the Phantom they were after. It had stayed on its eastward flight despite the fact that the second Banshee in its entourage had been taken out, the first having fallen earlier to a precise lock-on from Mito's M79 and Yuri's LAAG. The pilot obviously didn't care who they were leaving behind. Or maybe they understood that what they had aboard was too precious to even risk turning around.

For the past 10 minutes, Squad Epsilon had been on the heels of the Covenant dropship that they'd seen land on the Luna Alta. Before this, Duncan had used the 'Reroute to contact' option on one of the holo-pedestals to gain access to another pedestal on the same floor as the Minister of Iconography. When the feed winked on it showed the alien clergyman being handed off by what looked like special guards to a pair of Ultras aboard the Phantom. Seeing that the prophet was indeed dead, he quickly told the Staff what he'd found.

The fighting began not long after as swarms of Banshees broke over Convoy-10's outer formation in several places. Eventually a hole was formed in the second defensive line that became a cause for concern, then gradually turned into an advantage for Epsilon.

Duncan just so happened to glance at the nearest pedestals to watch the Phantom take off without the Spartans being able to stop it. With his own eyes, he saw it moving away and pointed it out to everyone else.

The Staff ordered for them to pursue, namely because they couldn't allow the Covenant to simply get away with such an important cadaver, one they could use to potentially demoralize the enemy if they got their hands on it. So they used the very same gap in their lines as a means of driving out of the plaza and into the city.

Adding further fuel to the fire, they picked up the Master Chief's message shortly after departing. Thanks to him they learned that a very important Elite, if not the most important in the city, was presently onboard the eastbound dropship. That made this an even more perfect opportunity.

Five minutes later and here they were driving in the wake of their target but never out of sight of it.

At first the airborne escapees had tried to let ground forces mop them up. However, several dead Ghosts and four burning Shade wrecks later, they changed tact. Two of the Banshees broke off to attack them. That wasn't nearly enough, not for Mito's M79 that battered their frames, Yuri's turret that made one corkscrew into a Highrise or Duncan's rocket launcher that gouged the second clean out of the sky.

In more recent times it seemed that the Phantom and its escorts were reverting back to letting ground fodder take care of the matter, or to at the very least slow them down.

The two Warthogs had crossed an intersection on the boundary of the Larissa block before entering into western Edessa when the next set of obstacles came into view.

A pair of Wraiths slipped out from adjacent corners to their right and left some 100 meters ahead. Their mortars tracked them.

"Ep-4, serpentine!" The Staff ordered.

"On it!" Hector kept the lead Hog going but swerved between the inner and outer lanes with the Rocket Hog behind him doing the same. The slow-moving tanks struggled to track their movements. Still, the closest fired.

Epsilon disengaged their maneuver to weave under the energy mortar that arced overhead to slam into the veranda of a corporate building, a near miss. However, they stopped maneuvering long enough for the second Wraith to get a good aim. Now that they were closer, the next mortar's trajectory was more accurate, making them peel off to the left and right to let it impact the open space between them. Circling around the small crater, the Staff came back behind Hector. The two Hogs raced past the tanks which fired after them to little affect as the wailing mortars fell farther and farther behind.

The Phantom and its escorts were still a good distance away and far out of the M79's range. They would need another 200 meters just for Mito to get a lock-on, not an easy feat given that their target was always on the move.

Mere seconds after the Wraiths, they found themselves dealing with a growing number of Covenant pedestrians headed west. Company-sized contingents were making their way down the highway likely headed for the fighting at the wall. The enemy troops tried overwhelming them with potshots taken from the sidewalks as they zoomed past. Everyone else had to duck their heads while Yuri and Mito did their best to suppress them. The addition of the occasional corner-side lookout tower made running through western Edessa just a little less tenable.

They had just turned onto another highway when the ground began to rumble, not continually like an earthquake, but stochastically, like footsteps. Giant footsteps.

Something massive collided into the other side of a skyscraper further up the highway. The building shook before a secondary impact caused it to give way, its windows shattering as it began collapsing forward onto their path.

"Gun it!" The Staff ordered.

"Copy!" Hector floored the acceleration in tandem with the other Hog so that both sped forward into the oncoming destruction. A debris cloud was swiftly billowing outward from under the lower floors which were crushing down on top of each other. Still, they shot into the rising smoke even as the 300-meter structure falling over their heads grew ever closer.

In the darkness Duncan felt pieces of smaller debris bouncing off his armor and pinging across the vehicle as they followed after the faint silhouette of Hector's. Around them the shadows of Scorpion-sized debris rained across the roadway, forcing them to drive more defensively. They swerved around them in prediction of where they would land. But the rumbling grew unnervingly closer with each second of their progress going unbearably slower.

At the seventh second, Epsilon emerged onto the other side of the highway, clear of the smoke that bloomed after them as the skyscraper fully collapsed in an earth-shaking boom. They were momentarily caught in the cloud again then broke free in time to avoid the waterfall of debris, and so did something else.

Duncan heard it coming and turned back to get a view of the colossal shadow moving above the fallen skyscraper. A pair of metal, insectoid legs pushed through the haze like a curtain to crash down on the tarmac. The shadow's image became illuminated by a growing green glow before it released a throaty, multivocal roar.

"Scarab, six o'clock!"

The Staff spotted it in the rear-view mirror. "It's about to fire, Ep-4, go evasive!"

"Yessir!"

Epsilon's Hogs broke left and right as the expected stream of emerald plasma shot through the smoke to split the roadway along its length, separating them by a sizzling, 20-meter-long trench. Another near miss.

No sooner did they get out of its relative range that a second threat appeared another 100 meters ahead. This time the towering assault platform grazed another skyscraper to send debris tumbling forward as it strode into their way. The Scarab turned to face them, setting its four jointed legs along the sidewalks to steady itself for a shot that quickly metastasized on the frontal focus cannon. It roared and fired. However, the head swiveled from left to right so that the streaming discharge was spread out.

The Staff sized up the incoming plasma. "Ep-4, left in 20 meters then right in 50!"

Hector took the lead in swerving hard left away from the landing plasma. Then at the designated distance he turned hard right so that they crossed underneath the curve of the discharge. By mere chance of speed, they avoided the wall of green flames that came down behind them. Mito, meanwhile, let off another rocket salvo on the focus cannon that stopped it from pulling off another shot.

They drove under the Scarab's prodding legs, weaving around the rear set that nearly crushed them as the platform maneuvered around to face them. Even in escaping to the other side they weren't free from the rotating gaze of the rear anti-air turret which shot a series of bolts that thundered after them, searing the area at their backs. Still, it missed and they moved out of range once more.

Looking up, the Phantom and its escorts were still visible, just a bit more distant than before.

The sight of their quarry was cut off by a squadron of 4 Seraphs that soared beneath the dropship, headed for its pursuers. The tear-drop fighter at the head of the diamond formation was the first to release a single bright pin-point of light. It expanded out from its drop bay into a lance of blue-white plasma that screamed down towards the highway.

"Split up!"

At the Staff's behest, the Hogs again drove off from each other. They hugged the sidewalks as the first plasma charge napalmed across the highway. The wall of superheated plasma energy created a brief air suction that dragged them closer as it fueled its rapid thermal expansion. Then the air stilled once the blaze's advance subsided, only after covering a quarter of a kilometer.

The second and third fighters on the wing of the formation dipped down at two opposing angles that would make them swing across the highway. Their near-vertical descent strained their impulse drives so that their propulsion blew out columns of windows on the skyscrapers they flew past. At 50 meters to the ground, they dropped their loads. The two plasma charges scythed down a pair of skyscrapers on opposing sides of the highway, shattering more windows and blowing out through the other sides before they reached the tarmac. The lances of energy crossed and twirled over each other to seal off the way forward.

"Left exit-route, take it!"

Hector drove left for the upcoming exit and the Staff shot after him. However, the thermal expansion had started, and in getting closer they were exposed to the suction effect which nearly pulled their vehicles into a sideways tumble. They reached the exit at the last second and their tires slammed back down safely onto the road.

They sped around a 'Q' shaped roundabout while keeping their target always in sight. Emerging onto another highway further north, they were greeted almost immediately by the appearance of the fourth Seraph fighter heading straight for them.

Hector swung right and the Staff left, but the fighter also changed course, setting itself on a direct attack run for one of the Hogs.

"Hey-hey-hey, it's focusing on us!" Duncan said, bringing his SPNKR to bear despite knowing it would do little good against the craft's energy shielding.

"Hold on!" The Staff flattened the accelerator in an attempt to get ahead of what was coming. In response, the Seraph realigned itself accordingly. It made a sharp dive and released a plasma charge that sliced diagonally across the highway towards the Rocket Hog.

The Staff watched its path, patiently waiting until it reached within 20 meters before he was confident enough to veer right of its trajectory.

Obscene amounts of heat washed over their bodies as the plasma charge flashed past less than several meters to their left.

Duncan felt the cold sweat on his forehead evaporate. He heard the whistling roar of a gale as the air around them was sucked in by the thermal expansion. The air rapidly became turbulent enough to make the Hog lift off and spiral leftwards as the lean of the vehicle conspired with what became a wind tunnel to pull them off the ground. They twisted sideways several times, holding on so to not be thrown clear. At the end of the momentary expansion, they landed roughly back onto the tarmac less than a meter from the wall of flames. Nevertheless, they had survived and regrouped with Hector's Hog.

"You guys alright!?" Nova asked.

"We're hanging in there!" The Staff replied. "They must be coordinating these air strikes to stop us from going after their boss! No matter what, keep on that dropship!"

"Yes sir!"

The ODSTs drove on.

Much to their surprise, their newest route had brought them closer to their quarry. There was now less distance between them and the Phantom, at least 200 meters less. What remained was for them to speed up to cover the next hundred for a lock-on. But the sight of the 3rd Premiere Wall loomed closer, a reminder that their window of opportunity was slowly closing.

The pursued party had also taken notice of how close they'd gotten and three of the Banshees flew off from their formation to descend upon them.

Rather than another frontal assault, two of the attack craft disengaged from the third that continued on towards Hector's Hog. The other two disappeared behind the skyline. Then as the ODSTs came onto a section of elevated expressway leading over a lower part of the city, the Banshees reappeared, rolling out from buildings to come out behind the Rocket Hog. They were coming for the M79, a tactically sound decision given that it was the only weapon that could deal any real damage to the dropship.

They both tracked their mutual target, fired off a plasma torpedo then rolled aside to avoid the response. Mito managed a lock-on but the rockets crashed into a passing building as the flyer flipped behind it.

The Staff turned to avoid the torpedoes in a half-completed figure-8 then rode back on the trail.

On the other Hog, Hector had just swerved around a torpedo that instead crashed into a parked van. Yuri dappled the flyer's hull with round after round, making it bleed flames that convinced it to promptly break off its attack run.

Duncan took aim of one of the Banshees as it reappeared from behind a building on their rear-right. He waited until a diamond lock-on symbol blinked in his optics. He gave the Banshee one more second when it looked about to fly under a higher expressway. Once it was under its shadow, he sent out a single rocket that whistled after it.

The craft barrel rolled to the side, something he'd planned for. His patience paid off as the rocket missed but struck the nearby wall of the underpass. The blast was close enough to damage one of its wing canards, setting it alight. The entire thing began to wobble. Without warning a small explosion on the canard set off a chain reaction that blew off the entirety of its left wing. The pilot must have been struggling to maintain control because the Banshee shot up into a twisting ascent until it crashed into a skyscraper, subsequently exploding across its glassy surface.

"One down!" Duncan said. "Ep-10, how's things on your end!?"

Mito had just launched another volley. He watched it arc upwards to consume the second flyer in a fit of bright light from which fiery debris rained. "Mine's is down!"

On the other Hog, Yuri was delivering one gatling burst after another at the last flyer. It barreled left, right then aileron rolled higher to dodge everything he was throwing at it.

"Need some help, Ep-5!?" Duncan asked.

"NYET!" Yuri growled. "Banshee is mine!" He readjusted his reticle to sweep over its flight path whenever it barreled to the side. This time he caught it for a good two seconds of continuous fire that elicited more flames from the increasingly pockmarked hull.

"YES! Come on Split-Jaw, come down to Matchstick!"

As if it heard him, the craft unexpectedly banked downward on a curving attack vector. It hooked upwards to slash at the Hog's front with its turrets. Yuri answered in kind with lead for plasma, the latter of which streamlined from triple-barrels straight into the fuselage. The concentration of fire produced a large burst of flames that swiftly enveloped the entire craft. It turned into a fiery missile heading for a collision with the street.

Still a good 30 meters above the ground, the rear canopy was opened and the Elite pilot threw himself clear of the dying flyer.

The strange, curving horned-guard in red and yellow armor brought two plasma rifles to bear on the human vehicle. Even while it fell it shot down on the hood. But Yuri had kept aiming and kept firing, blowing out its energy shields halfway to the ground. Nova scored a three-round burst into its head right before it landed with the sound of broken armor and snapped bones, a sound that turned into more of a crunch as Hector drove over it. The ownerless Banshee crashed behind them and exploded on impact.

The Staff caught up to Hector's Hog then focused on the Phantom which now had even less ground on them, less than 100 meters.

"We're gaining." Hector said as they drove over a roundabout onto an adjoined highway leading ever deeper into the east.

"And so is that wall." The Staff planted a Nav marker on the 3rd Premiere Wall itself which stood more imposing than before. The marker read '500 meters' and was dropping drastically. "If they get past it, we'll have to chase them over. A sub-tunnel entry will be our best bet at that point. Try to stop it before then."

"We're shooting thing down or what?" Yuri asked.

"That's the plan, Ep-5, the only one we've got. At this rate that minister's body is forfeit but we need that Field Marshall dead. Once he's out of the picture their leadership will be completely decapitated."

"Sounds like a plan if there ever was one." Nova noted. Her attention shifted to the buildings bordering the more open area that they had drove into. She flinched. "Ambush!"

At her word the newest firefight began. Dozens of windows on the adjacent skyscrapers blew open to spew streams of plasma that raked the more jammed traffic lanes below. The new fireworks show centered heavily on the two UNSC vehicles careening around the abandoned civilian variants in their way.

What Duncan presumed to be plasma cannons, too many to count, were opening up on them from upper positions that would be harder to hit. The same rule applied for them since the additional lanes of abandoned cars inadvertently blocked the bulk of the enemy plasma.

The Staff shouted over the chaos. "Keep going! Don't stop!"

They maneuvered in and out of lanes while Yuri and Mito dished out returns, bulleting windows or blowing out entire floors to silence the cannon crews hiding within.

The audible HEP of a Banshee drew their focus to the skies where one of them, the very last escort, had appeared for a near vertical strafing run. It released a torpedo at the rear Hog then rolled backwards to make a run at Hector's

With less space to move, the Staff had to hit the breaks to let the torpedo crash harmlessly ahead of them. Driving back after the other Hog, Mito and Yuri buffeted the aircraft' using rockets and turret fire.

Wising up, it quickly backed off and boosted away behind a neighboring building.

After 20 seconds of constant assailment the last cannon crew fell behind them.

"That was too close." Hector sighed.

Duncan took the chance to load his final rocket into his SPNKR. "Think they've got anything else for us?"

They reached a fork in the highway that branched around a Highrise. They passed down the left route and came out onto the beginning of an intersection just 200 meters before the 3rd Premiere Wall. Though the Phantom was less than a quarter of that from them, the problem of distance was still in play. To make matters worse, as they passed into the wall's shadow a familiar sight came into view.

Three Wraiths were patrolling the area around the local gatehouse with a trio of Ghosts covering the entrance to the subterranean tunnel beside it.

"I'd say yes." Nova said in answer to Duncan's earlier question.

"Ep-10, can you get a lock?" The Staff called back.

Mito's grip flexed on the M79's controls as he zoomed in on the lone Phantom. After three seconds the lock-on icon appeared. "Got it." He pulled the triggers, sending six rockets on a self-altering course for the Phantom. Their flight covered the distance quickly and impacted the rear of the craft with six shaking explosions. Though it remained in the air, the two hanger bay doors slid partially open, allowing the crew to fire back with the onboard plasma cannons.

Thankfully, the blue showers missed widely. The same couldn't be said for the Covenant garrison at the wall that finally noticed them coming. The Wraiths posted across the far end of the intersection turned to face them. The three Ghosts copied them in dispersing around the tunnel entrance.

Mito got off another volley that struck the tail of the craft, then another. By the time they'd gotten within 100 meters of the wall his fourth rocket volley had slammed into the dropship's underbelly, birthing blue flames on the hull. His last salvo ended with even more flames spreading over the metal surfacing.

The first Wraith finally hurled an energy mortar in their direction followed shortly by the other two.

The incoming mortars forced them to peel away from each other. As they passed over the intersection's middle, Yuri blazed the nearest tank with suppressing fire. The act succeeded in distracting it and buying time for Mito to fire off another barrage.

But the Phantom had started rising in conjunction with the premiere wall. It was climbing away. The ascent made Mito's rockets have to race after it. Seeing what was coming, the Phantom's twin impulse drives flared under a renewed strain to go faster. Still, the barrage caught it, destroying its heavy plasma cannon completely. The flames spread ever further on its underbelly and licked at the hanger doors, forcing them to close.

"Come on Ep-10!" The Staff shouted.

"I'm trying!" Mito loosed another salvo, one meant to finish off the already weakened craft.

Duncan watched the rockets race after the Phantom which had already reached two thirds of the way to the wall's top.

Then he heard the HEP of an impulse drive and saw the last Banshee, burning and wounded, fly up from behind a skyscraper. It rolled into the decreasing airspace between the Phantom and its demise. Five of the rockets instead impacted the flyer, destroying it in a flash of silvery-blue light. The last struck the Phantom's damaged tail but did little more than make it reel forward. It recovered quickly.

"No-no, come on." Mito fired another panicked salvo. However, the Phantom slipped over the top of the wall, leaving their heat-seeking to lead them into the surface of the slanting barrier. Their explosions detonated harmlessly near the top.

The Staff floored the accelerator again, hell-bound for the tunnel. "Ep-8, clear out those Ghosts! We're going after them!"

"Yessir!" Duncan set his SPNKR on the tunnel, ignoring the energy mortars landing all around. He fired off one rocket then another to strike the Ghosts sitting between them and the tunnel entrance. The first slammed into one of the assault craft to utterly erase both it and its Grunt driver. The remaining two drove away from the blast-radius of the second rocket, inadvertently opening the way forward.

A shadow fell over Duncan from the side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Wraith boosting towards them. It suddenly stopped, the propulsion drives winking offline so that it crashed onto the tarmac. It exploded a second later after its exhaust port succumbed to Yuri's turret.

The other Hog zipped out from behind the wreck. Instead of going after theirs, Hector piloted away to let Yuri bat off the two remaining Ghosts coming after them.

"We'll make sure these guys don't follow!" Hector said. "Get going, Ep-1!"

The Staff nodded back as they drove into the entrance.

Duncan saw the other Hog weaving expertly under energy mortars and turning to address a newly arriving squad of Ghosts coming from the city. Then his view of them was cut off by the blinking red-lights of the tunnel's ceiling.

The road became a gradual incline. They rushed through the vacillating darkness at top speed, wheeling around abandoned vehicles and bodies in their way.

Seeing that his ammo was dry for the SPNKR, Duncan ditched it over into the street, brought out his MA37 and clipped his plasma pistol to his thigh bracer. He had a feeling that what would come next would be nothing short of close range.

The Staff glanced over at him and Mito. "Ep-8, Ep-10, you know what to do. Don't let me down, understood?"

"Yessir." They said in unison.

The remainder of their upwards journey passed by quickly. After a minute the exit came up and they drove out into the light of day.

What greeted Duncan's senses first was the sheer lack of any buildings at all. Mount Parnassus and Mount Giona's towering visages lay to their north, their floral-caped masses unhindered by the presence of any tall skyscrapers. The same could be said for the other two mountains to the south, Ossa and Ida, altogether being part of the coastal mountain range that hemmed in the city of High Mediolanum.

They'd come out into an area of grassy plains that spanned out for kilometers from the top of the nearby wall, only stopping at a line of forestry that marked the beginning of Pavia's interior.

The wide-open plains ahead were partitioned by what looked like interstate highways leading further into the interior. However, the highways were bisected by a small chasm running north to south with a river at the very bottom. There, the paved highways connected to draw-bridges built on either side of the chasm.

The Phantom, wounded as it was, was flying low over the highway, headed for the nearby draw-bridge and the open air beyond.

They drove after it, moving over the highway to reach the beginnings of the bridge until the Phantom was less than 30 meters away.

"Ep-10!?"

"Aiming!"

Just as Mito was getting a lock-on, Duncan heard the sharpening scream of an impulse drive. He saw it then, a Seraph fighter flying in from the south. "Incoming!"

The fighter dropped a plasma charge that expanded behind it as it continued north. The charge thundered across the bridge in front of them, blowing through the metal infrastructure to send flaming metal slags showering over them. Their sightline on the Phantom disappeared behind the rising wall of flame. But there was no stopping, not now that they were so close.

"Hold on!" The Staff gunned it towards the breach.

Duncan clung to his seat as the Hog drove up the slight incline provided by the damaged infrastructure. They flew into the air above the chasm, rising just above the flame for Mito to get a lock-on. He fired another six rockets in the middle of the jump.

Yet the distance to the other side was too great. They were about to tumble down to the river far below when the thermal expansion of the plasma charge finally kicked in. The air suction drew them into the barrier of fire. They burst through the other side of it just in time to see the last rockets impact the Phantom's underbelly. It was enough to rupture one of its two drives in a flowering explosion that knocked the craft into a tilt. It banked hard to port, then to starboard and finally back hard on its portside in a turn too sharp to recover from.

The last thing Duncan saw was its sudden descent before the Hog nose-dived onto the edge of the other side of the bridge, throwing them clear of the vehicle. Then everything went black.

:********:

Duncan slowly came to at hearing the low roar of some dying animal. The sound gradually clarified to that of raging flames some ways off.

Realizing that he was lying on his stomach, he groggily lifted his head, a surprisingly weighty act. He looked back to the bridge. Through his hazy vision he saw that it was still on fire but that he was already on the beginning of the grassy plains. He saw the Staff's prone form lying off to his left. But there was no sign of the Hog, or of Mito.

There was something else coming closer, footsteps...too heavy to be human.

His rifle was gone. He took a shaky breath as he reached for the plasma pistol on his thigh bracer.

A heavy boot landed on his back, forcing the air out of his lungs as it pushed down on his spine, pinning him in place.

Gasping, he watched helplessly as a long fingered, reptilian hand reach down and took the pistol from off his BDU. As it lifted away, he followed the hand up to the two glowing eye visors of the owner.

An Ultra stood over him, one boot planted firmly on his back. Someone else' pained grunting drew his eye to the Staff who had a second Ultra also pinning him underfoot. It yanked the shotgun off his back harness and tossed it aside.

Flickering flames in the corner of his vision drew him to the wreck of the Phantom. The downed craft lay on its side 10 meters away with fires spreading across its downed frame. Movement in the open hanger bay caught his attention. He saw a hand grab hold of the edge.

An Elite pulled itself out of the hanger. His vision cleared to help him recognize the armor as belonging to that of the Field Marshall. It landed on the ground holding a purple robed prophet over its shoulder. While he didn't know how their expressions worked, the alien seemed to glower down at the two of them.

Duncan tried to pull himself out from under the Ultra. It merely pressed down harder so that he could barely breath. Then he saw it aim a plasma rifle at the back of his head.

Memories raced through his mind. He remembered being held in his mother's arms. He and her were waving goodbye to his dad for the last time as he walked to the Starport terminal, waving back at them with a duffel bag draped over his shoulder. He saw Erica's longing smile in waving him goodbye as he hopped into Uncle Rick's Warthog to head for his training at Camp Ravenport. There was the picture of him, O'Reilly, Cosmo and Stanton standing together and smiling at the camera during their graduation ceremony aboard Nassau Station. Then there was the first time he saw Noah.

His last thought was of the rest of Epsilon, everyone that wasn't here now. He was surprised really, not at the fact that he was about to die, but at realizing after all he'd both seen and been through in the last 2 years that it was really this easy.

"HEY!"

The Ultra on his back stopped what it was about to do. Like its partner standing on the Staff, it turned towards the bridge.

Mito stood on the very edge.

Sunlight shined off the sharpened metal of the crimson Yamamoto Aka like a drip of water. He bore his katana in a swordsman's stance, holding the blade at eye-level. The tip pointed past the Ultras to the Field Marshall standing before the burning dropship.

"If you want to kill them, you'll have to kill me first!" He jabbed a finger at the Field Marshall as its cohorts aimed at him. "I challenge you to a duel for our honor as warriors! If you win, you can kill these two! If I win, you'll let them go! Come on, unless you're somehow afraid of a human with nothing but a piece of pointy metal."

Duncan was lost for words. As was the Staff who could only stare dumbfounded at the young private.

"Mi-" The Staff tried but was cut off by the Ultra pressing down on him harder. But neither it nor its partner fired on Mito. Instead, they looked back to their leader.

The Field Marshall looked taken aback. Its mandibles shifted in thought. Then, to Duncan' surprise, it slowly and delicately rested the body of the Minister of Iconography onto the grass.

And again, it did something unexpected. Its jaws maneuvered into what Duncan could only surmise to be amusement. He knew these things could understand some human languages. But he wasn't aware to what degree until the alien gradually rested a hand on the handle of the energy sword clipped to its belt.

:********:

Field Marshall Duracomee had never felt this way in his life. Though he searched for it deep within the core of his memories, he could tell that this experience was unique, matchless in its visceral nature.

Three emotions were at war in his soul in a fight for supremacy. There was the dread of the eternal punishment that likely awaited him for his failure. There was the anger that these humans had done so much to uproot his plans to escape with the minister, to damage his legacy as a commander, as a Sangheili and a follower of the path. Then, finally, there was the absolute amazement he felt coursing through his body at the sight of this lone human, this vermin that dared stand before him with sword in hand, demanding in its filthy language for a duel as though they were equals. Yet somehow, seeing it standing before him asking for such a challenge brought all three emotions into balance, forming an uneasy triumvirate that set his attention on the reddened, metal blade.

The weapon being held against him was of an archaic design. However, the sunlight glimmered off its tip in such a brilliant way that it held his gaze.

There was something different about this human. What it was exactly, his mind couldn't discern. But deep within his soul, the answer hit him with the full force of a rebuke directly from the mouth of the Gods.

He'd been running, escaping...fleeing from the battlefield.

What Sangheili warrior worth their salvation would do such a thing, even with a prophet in their possession? What came first, he wondered. His duty to the San'Shyuum or his duty to the sense of honor that his people proudly bore upon their shoulders.

Deep down he felt that the latter was truer as the whispers of the former died away within the eternally shut eyes of the minister lying at his feet. He looked back to the sword.

Humans weren't known to fight with close-range weapons such as these. They certainly couldn't be good with them, not against the Sangheili whose superior proficiency and technology would enable them to cut down such arrogance with just the swipe of an energy sword. Regardless, this human shock trooper felt that it could pull off such a feat. That alone was insulting, and refreshingly so.

Perhaps, in some way, this was the Gods' will in helping him to correct his mistake, to aid him in redeeming himself before them by, at the very least, slaying this human that had come so far to stop his retreat and been so brazen as to challenge him to a duel. It could be a test for only one purpose:

To prove that he was still a warrior.

If this was truly their test to redeem him, which he was starting to believe it truly was, then he would meet it head on and regain what honor there was to be had in the eyes of the divine.

He spoke to the creature roughly in its own language while holding out his energy sword at his side.

"Your challenge, human" He said, the blade flickering to life in his hand, "is accepted."

Huz - Chased


	61. Battle of Actium - Chapter 23 (Fratres)

Chapter 23 – Fratres

May 10th, 2545 (08:42 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Eastern City Limits

:********:

Private Wagatsumo Ikimoto took each step forward under the pretense of it being his last and held his sword as though he was assured as much. It was with tight fists that he gripped the handle of his family's katana, but not so tight that it left him inflexible. He knew flexibility would be one of the characteristics of Kenjutsu he would have to rely on most in this duel.

He kept the hilt close to his waist so that the rest of the blade was at an angle from his chest. The bloodred-crimson color of the Yamamoto Aka seemed to disturb the Elite Ultras as he passed them. Duncan and the Staff could do nothing but watch, pinned beneath their boost as the Elites themselves leaned back slightly and cocked their heads at him. Perhaps they were amused by the thought of him trying to kill their leader with that blade. Or maybe they were concerned. The very fact he was willing to try anyway must have been terrifying enough, as if he knew something they didn't.

Mito couldn't help wondering if he was a madman himself. Then again, he was partially just trying to buy time, though exactly for what purpose he wasn't sure. There was no guarantee the rest of the squad would reach them in time, especially with the bridge taken out. In fact, he almost hadn't made the jump himself. When they landed, Duncan and the Staff were thrown clear onto the plains. However, he had held onto the M79 when the vehicle nose-dived, balanced briefly then tipped over. He'd managed to jump just as the Warthog tumbled back, catching hold of the edge while the vehicle cartwheeled down into the steaming remains of the river below. By the time he pulled himself back up, the Field Marshal had gotten out of the Phantom and the Ultras had already pinned the others. That left him with only his current option as a means of delaying their deaths, if he could even do that.

He still didn't trust these Elites. He had no reason to either. At most, it was nothing short of a miracle that his appeal to their well-known, overblown sense of honor had actually worked. But as he stepped out onto the grassy plain and saw the Field Marshal waiting for him, energy sword drawn, he knew that he would need to add some weight behind his initial bluff.

The question still stood. How would he go about killing a 2-meter tall, technologically advanced alien using a metal sword nearly 1,000 years old?

Seeing it standing a few short stretches away with its weapon, he thought of what the sword was capable of and who it had killed with it. His attention shifted to his own. He searched its history that he knew as if it were an extension of himself, all in pursuit of a winning strategy.

The Yamamoto Aka was an Azuhi-Momoyama-era sword made during the days of Oda Nobunaga's conquests of Japan. Back then his family were one of the many swordsmiths of Yamashiro Province. However, the weapon only came into being under the fresh inspiration of his ancestor, Eizō Ikimoto, as a gift to one of his brothers going off to war. The legend spoke of him fashioning the blade from a precious, unknown metal he found in a riverbed at the base of a mountain. Because of the way it adapted to the color of any liquid to which it was constantly exposed, Eizō had branded it the Yamamoto Aka or 'Red Mountain' in acknowledgement of its increasingly bloodred hue as well as the province where it was created.

There was the Imjin War. When Toyotomi Hideyoshi first invaded Korea, Akihiro Ikimoto was one of the initial soldiers to set foot on and lead others across the beaches of Busan in the wake of the orders of Sō Yoshitoshi, Lord of Tsushima, to besiege it. During that fight, he carried the Yamamoto Aka into battle despite that by then early guns were becoming the more fashionable method of killing.

Later came the Boshin War. His next ancestor, Etsuji Ikimoto, used the blade alongside dozens of other Tosa Samurai to kill one of a number of French midshipmen in what became known as the Sakai Incident. That same ancestor later used the blade to disembowel himself in ritual seppuku as the 11th and final Samurai responsible for the incident to do so, all to demonstrate their sense of honor to the French sailors and Imperial officials that both demanded and witnessed their deaths. The weapon was later returned to the family's household by the leading French officer who had been deeply moved by the display.

Both Akihiro and Etsuji had shown resolve, Akihiro in using his sword in the dawning era of gunpowder and Etsuji in his refusal to release traditions under the Imperial standard.

The Yamamoto Aka saw action in the Second World War. With the blessing of Emperor Hirohito, Hayato Ikimoto served as an officer in the Imperial Army and led charges against the Americans on Peleliu under the command of Colonel Kumio Nakagawa. He did the same under General Mitsuru Ushijuma in Northern Okinawa for a final banzai charge at Sugar Loaf Hill. It was meant to be to the death, although the Americans denied him that honor by shooting him in the leg. In that regard, Hayato had been an example of bravery in the face of what could've been his certain demise.

Then the sword saw more modern conflicts. Fukashi Ikimoto carried the weapon into the Rain Forest Wars when he was assigned to a peacekeeping force of UNSC Marines trying to secure the Uruguay Protectorate from the reprisals of Fascist Freidans and Communistic Koslovics. As a Captain, he fought in the wider Interplanetary War during the Mars Campaigns, using it to save several fellow Marines from a close range Koslovic ambush in Mare Erthryaeum. His actions made him an example of fighting for the cause of his comrades.

Later was the Insurrection in the outer colonies. His Father, Hideo, had used the weapon on a mission on Eridanus II during Operation TREBUCHET. He'd gotten commendations after using it to destroy several RCWS weapon's platforms pinning down his platoon during a raid on a suspected Insurrectionist base on the outskirts of Luxor. He was Mito's second greatest model, showing what creativity could be demonstrated in the face of great pressure.

Resolve. Bravery. Comradery. Creativity. Vengeance.

That last one hadn't come from his ancestors. It was much more recent, only a few years old. He'd learned it from the fact that he wasn't the first of the family to carry the Yamamoto Aka into the present war with the Covenant. That honor had fallen to his older brother, Wakagi Ikimoto. That honor had also fallen with him.

As Mito finally stopped 10 paces short of the Elite, a memory came to mind. In the place of the Field Marshal standing before him he saw a figure wearing the black, padded armor known as a Bōgu. In the place of his rippling energy sword was a bamboo sword that was slowly raised high overhead in a preparatory strike. Beyond the helmet gratings was a face that looked just like his own, only older and smiling at him with an overconfident but loving grin.

Mito stopped to take up his starting position just short of the Elite's, but not far out of reach of the many memories that came flooding over him.

The grass swaying almost imperceptibly in the noon wind became a smooth, wooden floor beneath his boots. Behind the Field Marshal, the morning gaze of Aquilla became that of Sol as the sunlight filtered through a row of open windows to illuminate the interior of a dojo. The green smell of bamboo was fresh in his nostrils from the last time Wakagi had struck him with it. A strike to the head, called a Men, was the second that his brother had gotten past his guard and the last one he needed to finish their bout. The match went to Wakagi, two to zero.

Their father Hideo raised a white flag from where he stood relatively close to the match, confirming the hit.

In that moment Wakagi had the decency to bow. Mito didn't. He tossed away his protective helm to unveil his tussled hair, sweaty and flushed face and a scowl aimed at his brother, as was the next strike of his sword. But Wakagi wasn't even phased as he raised his own to block a swing at his stomach.

He leaned in towards Mito, grinning. "You're off-balance, little brother."

"No... I'm not." Mito said through the strain of trying to push him back.

Wakagi's grin only widened. Suddenly, he twirled his own sword with such rightward force that it made Mito stumble. Then he dropped down and swept his feet out from under him, sending his younger brother landing hard on his back. Before the helmetless practitioner could get back up Wakagi had already settled his sword down on his neck.

"That's a Tsuki. I win again."

Mito slapped his sword away, growling. "That didn't count."

"Neither did your attempt to land a Do on me after I'd already won, but that didn't seem to stop you."

"And I fear nothing might."

The older, male voice made them both turn back to see their father standing over them. He was dressed in the traditional black robes of a Kendo Master. His hair was graying, his facial scars from the Insurrection were fading, and his equally graying eyes looked on disapprovingly at his youngest son. "Young Sumo, you do not need unrestrained ferocity to be your guide, or it might very well lead you to break even greater rules."

"I say; rules are made to be broken." Mito shot back.

"And I say; so are your bones." Wakagi said, patting him on the shoulder for emphasis. "But we don't break those because we have rules and standards, like being able to take a loss honorably, something you should seriously start considering if you ever want to really represent us." He grabbed his young brother's hand and pulled him onto his feet.

Hideo shook his head as he sized up his youngest protégé. "You're Ki-Ken-Tai needs work." He sighed. "Much more work. While the coalescence of your body and sword are getting better, your spirit is still unrefined. You seem to have left that behind in your main trainings and this bout has only showed me as much." Hideo stood straighter. "Wakagi's assessment is sound. You will not participate in next week's tournament. That honor will instead fall to your eldest brother."

For Wakagi, it was another shining moment, one of many he'd had in beating out every single one of his Father's other students to be chosen to represent their dojo at the local Kendo tournaments in Hokkaido. For Mito, it would have been better that his Father had stabbed him with a real katana then and there, or perhaps just given him a wakizashi so he could do the job himself like his ancestor Etsuji had so honorably done before the French. His Father's words alone were the death nail in the last years' worth of effort he'd spent training to beat his older brother. All that time he'd used secretly skipping school to take extra training from his father and uncle had come to naught in no time at all. Hence why he was so mad when Wakagi beat him for what felt the 120th time, of course with a loving yet confident grin always present on his face. He only ever wore that expression when it came to fighting Mito. He was always serious with everyone else, always, but never his little brother, as if he could hardly take him seriously as an opponent.

He still wore that infamous expression now even as he pulled off his helmet. "You got a few good swings on me though, almost put me on the defensive when you switched to Iado, as ironic as that sounds."

Mito murmured under his breath. "It obviously wasn't good enoug-"

"Wagatsumo!"

Mito instinctually turned to face his father whose stern voice and equally stern demeanor, hands held behind his back and mouth held in a frown stronger than iron, told him he was about to be rebuked. "You will show your opponent the respect he deserves, even after you have lost to him. Certainly, Hayato knew to demonstrate as much even after he was captured kicking and screaming by the Americans." His eyes narrowed to sharpened slits as his question cut through the last of Mito's stubbornness to strike something soft on the other side. "Can I not expect you, my son, to do the same?"

My son. He'd heard that a different way than his Father had probably wanted him to: My second son. Truly, his life was one of being in second place. He was second out of the womb and second in every match that took place between him and his predecessor. And even though his Father had never said or shown as much, he always felt that he preferred Wakagi over him, at least whenever it came to representing the dojo that he was so proud of, one whose inheritance and prestige had belonged to the Ikimoto family for 12 generations.

He looked between his Father and Wakagi who by that point was no longer smiling. In the end, Mito's eyes fell to the floor, ashamed, and the rest of his body followed suit. He got down onto his hands and knees before the feet of the match's winner and bowed until his forehead touched the floor. "Well done, Wakagi. You did...good."

To his surprise, even though it was customary, Wakagi slowly fell to his hands and knees and also bowed deeply to him. "Same to you, little brother."

The bow was a mark of respect between opponents, one which Mito wasn't fond of showing. To him it felt more like he was prostrating himself and admitting he was a loser, which he was in this case but that didn't mean he wanted to admit it. Regardless, it was tradition. To show honor and humility in the face of loss was tradition. Humility, his Father had once told him, but never humiliation. That was something that could only occur if a warrior refused to be humble, and there was no worse fate in this era or in those that came before that could ever possibly be worse than that, not even death. The purpose of this tradition was to protect against that.

Mito rose to his feet at the same time as his brother. They gave each other standing bows to signal the official end of their match. Then they turned and headed to opposite sides of the dojo for the next set of students, one of the dozens watching their match from the sidelines, to begin their practice match. While Wakagi left for the changing rooms, Mito went off to the hall connecting the dojo to the family's household to be by himself.

That night he'd stayed up in his bed, thinking. After an hour spent in that state he got up and left his room. He quietly closed the door behind him then proceeded to tip-toe across the creaky wooden surface of his home's second floor. Whenever he got past the doors of his parents' bedrooms without waking them up, he often liked to think himself to be his favorite historical hero, the famous ninja Hattori Hanzō. The real test of that came upon reaching the threshold of the staircase. His brother's room was right next to it. Wakagi was a notoriously light sleeper and he more often than not ended up catching Mito whenever he tried sneaking around late at night.

But this time the sliding doors of his brother's room remained shut. He gave muted thanks to whichever Kami or ancestral spirit was looking out for him and promised himself to deliver a fresh sacrifice of food to the family shrine the next morning.

He descended the steps and reached the main hallway at the bottom. It was empty save for objects on the left side of the wall that always caught his attention. Whenever he came here in the day, he could only ever look at the display, never to touch them. This time was different. Now with no one else awake he could actually risk touching them, although that carried about as much taboo as messing with the family shrine.

Mito slowly made his way over to the displays with each step holding a certain amount of reverence for the objects he approached.

On the wall were mounted dozens of portraits sprawled out in an intricate, lotus-like pattern.

Each wooden frame held the picture of every ancestor or family member that had carried the Yamamoto Aka into battle. Near the top were the oldest of the weapon's wielders, starting with the expressive painting of its forger, Eizō Ikimoto. He was depicted cross-legged in a black and white kimono, hammering the sword's glowing metal while keeping it partially within the flames of his personal furnace. Then there was the painting of Akihiro leading waves of Japanese soldiers over the beaches of Busan as well as Etsuji planting the blade through his abdomen alongside others on an execution platform. Descending in a counter-clockwise manner brought him to the black and white pictures of Hayato Ikimoto. He and his fellow soldiers were waiting for deployment against the Americans from the naval base in Kure. Standing near a busy port, Hayato and a group of his friends were holding up their hands in a charismatic banzai praise for the Emperor. In truth, they were smiling for a war that everyone in that picture, except Hayato, would never return from. Rounding the bottom to reach the rightmost pictures were the more modern images with coloring. There was Fukashi Ikimoto who was sitting on a crate in a ship's hanger with windows behind him showing the orbit of Mars. He held his hand so that it looked like he was holding up Mars itself, while at the same time keeping a hand on his sword handle. The end impression was that he was about to slash the planet like an orange. And last was his father who was sitting on a stationary Scorpion Tank. He was leaning downward with a hand on the Yamamoto Aka's hilt as if he intended to unsheathe it at any moment, and a dangerous look that hinted at as much. A squad of several Marines stood around him holding rifles with varying poses. They were probably his squad-mates, none of which he ever talked about for reasons he also never talked about.

All of the pictures encircled the mounted sword stand that upheld the sheathed form of the Yamamoto Aka. Its red and black frame was aglow with the candlelight from a nearby table. The blade was currently at rest, but not for long.

Mito felt free to reach for it. Grasping the handle, he reverently pulled the weapon down from the stand. He held it for a moment. Just the sheer ecstasy of having it in his palms filled him with wave after wave of excitement. For most of his life he could only see it from a distance. Now he could do what he always wanted to.

With deliberate slowness he unsheathed the blade until the soft candlelight gleamed off its surface for the first time in years. His eyes widened at the near perfect contours of the metal and its famed bloodred sheen. Like a forbidden allure, he felt something in him pull his free-hand towards the upper edge and trace his finger across it.

It didn't take long for him to flinch. He looked at his finger and saw that he'd been cut. A drop of blood had already formed. But there was none on the part of the blade where he'd cut himself. He checked for drops on the ground. There were none. Not even the weapon itself dripped. It was almost as if the Aka had drunk whatever else was left.

He put the sheath aside, got into a stance and took his first swing with the blade. It was neither top-heavy nor bottom-heavy like most katanas of lesser quality. It had what he felt was a perfect balance to it, so much so that he marveled at how well he could cut something down with it, or someone. He took another swing, bringing the weapon and himself down in a graceful overhead arc so that he descended into a crouch. He pretended to sheath the blade at his side then unsheathe it in a lightning-fast manner as per the defensive principles of Iado. He thrusted through an imaginary opponent, shifted his footing to deflect an overhead parry from a foe behind him then finished him off with a diagonal cut aimed at the base of the neck. It would have been enough to kill a full-grown man, normally not one made out of air and childhood imaginations.

Then a shiver shot down his spine as he finished a maneuver to see his imagination come to life.

A single silhouette slightly bigger than himself emerged from the darkness at the other end of the hallway. Yet instead of coming towards him, it stopped halfway then leaned against the wall itself and folded its arms across its chest. He couldn't see the face, but what made matters worse was that the nearby candles manipulated the dark to make it seem as if it had none.

Mito held the sword with an increasingly shaky grip at the figure. "Who's there?"

After a second a deep voice replied. "Who do you think?"

Since Mito didn't respond, the figure felt free to continue. "I am Eizō, your ancestor. I have watched you secretly desire after my sword. Tonight, you have dishonored me in taking my creation and using it for your own amusement. Now, I shall reclaim that honor by striking you down with it."

It took up until the second sentence for Mito to pick up on the fact that the voice was exaggeratedly deep. Then it hit him who he was actually dealing with like a sack of rock-solid shame slapping him for his own idiocy.

"Okay Eizō," he exhaled. "So, were you watching me this whole time?"

"I was." 'Eizō' replied. "I was curious to see what you were capable of with that sword so I didn't stop you at first. Since you're just playing around with it, I decided that that was enough."

"...That's kind of creepy just watching kids in the dark."

"So is fighting ghosts with a sword in the middle of the night."

"Funny coming from a 900-year-old dead man."

"And you'd be just like me if I didn't stop you."

"...So, you saved my life just to kill me? That doesn't make much sense, does it, Eizō."

The 'ghost' didn't answer. Instead, it got up and walked forward until its full form was bathed in candlelight, including the face. Wakagi, dressed in a shirt and pants rather than a black and white kimono, smiled back at him. "Fine, I may not be about to strike you down, even though I could, but I certainly did save your life."

Mito arched a brow at him. "From what?"

Wakagi took the hand with the cut finger and held it up to his face. "From you." He let go and gestured to the Yamamoto Aka. Mito reluctantly handed it over. He watched his brother return it to its sheath then delicately place it back on the stand.

With the sword safely put away, Wakagi turned back to him, saying nothing at first. He finally slapped him on the back. "You had some nice form there. I almost thought you were good enough to actually use it on somebody."

Mito shrugged off his hand. "How about I try it on you? We could have a match right now."

Wakagi shook his head. "Not a good idea, then we'll wake up you-know-who. The last thing we need is for our father to see you holding that sword."

"Because you're the only one that's allowed to hold it, right?"

A short silence resumed between them at the mention of another unsaid tradition. Only a member of the family most likely to go to war would be granted the sword to take into battle, no one else. According to that standard, Wakagi would be the likeliest out of the two of them to wield it.

The existence of the war with the Covenant was not entirely lost on denizens of Earth. Despite that almost everyone knew the UEG censored most information about the conflict, almost no one on Earth had a good picture of what was actually going on. The basic idea was that the genocidal aliens were coming closer and closer to the inner colonies with the armed forces of the UNSC being barely able to stop them. Because of that fact, along with the reality that the Ikimoto family was a military one, it was expected that Wakagi would be sent off to the fight. He would soon be old enough to enlist in the Marines, and though their mother expressed her concerns, Wakagi had shown no sign that he would stay if the situation called for it.

"What are you really asking me, Sumo?"

"...Do you still want to go?"

"Go where?"

"The Marines. Dad joined them. What about you? Are you going too?"

"Why?" he grinned back. "You'll miss me if I go?"

Mito punched him in the shoulder. "You know that's not what I meant."

Wakagi took in a deep breath then let it out slowly. "I don't know yet. I'm still trying to see what will happen if this war keeps going the way it is. Hey, it might even end up finishing before I even get out there. Then they won't need a samurai like me to save them." He hooked Mito's head under his arm. "And I might get to see you finally reach a tournament, maybe even win."

Mito slipped out from under his arm. "You say that like I can't beat you now. What, are you scared you'll get taken down for the first time by your own little brother before you even ship out to basic?"

"If I ship out. Plus, if what I saw today is anything to go by, you need another two or three years before you can score a hit on me."

Mito punched him in the same shoulder again. "That's two."

Wakagi shot him a semi-threatening, semi-unserious glare. "Don't tempt me."

"Just make sure you know how to use it before you go."

"If I go." He glanced between the sword and his little brother for a moment, lost in some thought. "...Tell you what, if you end up joining up with me, I'll let you use it."

Mito froze where he stood. He blinked a few times to make sure he was still awake. "Wait-wait...what?"

Again, Wakagi glanced between him and the sword then nodded to the nearby kitchen. Mito followed him into the dark room on the other end of the hallway. After flicking on the lights and digging around in a few cabinets, Wakagi pulled out a glass bottle of sake wine and a pair of red cups. The transparent liquid swished about as he poured it into one of the cups then handed it over.

Mito sniffed and winced at first, but slowly the fruity smell settled in. "You're really doing this?"

Wakagi poured a bit more sake into his. "We're really doing this." He put the bottle aside and held up his cup over the central table. "How about it? I promise to give you our family sword, the Yamamoto Aka."

Mito looked down at his faint reflection in the sake. He tentatively raised his cup. "Wh-, what do you need me to do? That's how it works right? You make me a promise and I make you one?"

"That's about right. Let's say...in exchange you agree only to use it when you know you're ready."

Mito thought it over and nodded. It was reasonable. He took the cup, only to stop halfway. "But why don't you want to use it?"

Wakagi shrugged. "To be honest, I've never liked it that much, at least not as much as you do. Plus, it's too much pressure to try and live up to the legacy of everyone that's gone before me. It's too much for me, so I'm shoving it off on you." He winked at him. "I know we've got traditions but I say, if you want it, you can have it. Just make sure you join the Marines or the Army first so I can say we followed the tradition that way."

Mito still wasn't sure what to say. His brother's insistence made him really consider it. He knew that he enjoyed the feel of the Yamamoto's handle more than anything and the fluidity of the movements he was capable of with it. It felt almost like a part of himself that he'd never known, a large piece that was just waiting to be added to the rest.

"Okay. I'll join up with the UNSC then," He held up the cup to Wakagi's with a look of solid determination. "And get it from you when I'm ready."

Wakagi smiled. "It's a promise then." He clinked his cup against Mito's then leaned his head back and drank it. His brother mirrored his action. While it wasn't the first time they had drunk Sake in secret together, Mito could never get used to the fuzzy feeling he felt not long after. He figured it wouldn't be so bad once they stuck to just the first cup and he watched as his pensive reflection rippled and disappeared within the receding liquid.

After finishing up, the two of them went back to their rooms. Tossing himself onto his bed, Mito fell asleep right away, his mind completely clear of the earlier haze and with a promise to look forward to.

Back then he'd only been 14 and Wakagi 16. They were both coming off the heels of childhood, and neither of them knew how bad the war would really get.

It was another two years before the Yamamoto Aka was again taken off its sword rack. That morning, Hideo had ceremonially handed it over to Wakagi who was dressed in his Marine Corps uniform.

Mito had watched from the stairs alongside his mother as the blade was received. Wakagi gave a gentle bow that their father returned. Then he hugged him. They each got a turn to embrace him, always holding on for as long as they could. Mito went last. As they hugged, he felt his brother pat him on the back.

"Don't forget."

It was loud enough for only him to hear. He replied with a nod subtle enough for only Wakagi to see.

Then he watched him leave out the front door with a duffel bag in hand and the Yamamoto Aka strapped to his back. He hopped onto a Warthog troop carrier loaded with other Marine reserves. They watched it speed off from their porch, waving after him all the while.

Mito could remember that for a year they stayed in contact. They used whatever time they could find to talk to him whenever he was on-base and whenever they were free. That usually led to midnight calls that went well into the early morning.

But a day came when Wakagi told them of a major mission his company was going to undertake against the Covenant, that they were being sent to Alluvion to help lift the siege there and that he would be out of contact for some time. Of course, everyone was nervous since he would be going into a major operation. Nevertheless, his mother and father had remained strong. They told him they would pray at the shrine for him every day he was there until they heard back from him again. Mito simply wished him good luck. He would soon come to wish he had done more than that.

At first the days went by easily enough without hearing from him. But then the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months.

The tension grew in the background like a bubble, slowly inflating until no one would even risk mentioning his name at the dinner table less everything blow out into the open. Instead, something outside the family burst that bubble for them.

Mito remembered that morning with hauntingly crisp definition. It was a Saturday. The dawn air was blowing through the open windows of their empty dojo and filtering through the house. Everything was still, even himself as he lay in his bed thinking on something else.

His thoughts shifted to the front door when he heard the ring of the doorbell. He made his way downstairs where his mother had already reached. She opened it.

On the other side stood two men dressed in black uniforms. One looked in his forties. The other Mito recognized as one of the boys from their neighborhood that had gone off with Wakagi to Camp Hideyoshi. They'd even left on the same Warthog together. Their dark caps cast shadows like palls over their noticeably grim expressions which grew even more so upon seeing her.

His mother looked taken aback. She searched between the two of them. Their eyes were downcast but looked into her own with enough silence to say all they needed to. Still, the oldest took out a small display device and held it out. It flickered on to project a holographic image with information scrolling beside it.

It was his brother's face...next to words highlighted in red: 'KIA'.

By then his father had also arrived. He came to the door then stopped at seeing the officers and Wakagi's face. His own hardened to one of solemn understanding. His mother, however, held a shaking hand to her quivering mouth. Her knees gave way and she fell onto the threshold.

Mito watched his father kneel down to hold her close as she broke down in tears. Through the deep sobs he could hear her calling his brother's name over and over again as though he were just around the corner.

He didn't feel anything at that moment. He didn't fully understand it all. What made the pain real was when the man that looked to be Wakagi's age stepped forward and removed something strapped to his back.

His eyes widened at the sight of the Yamamoto Aka, still sheathed. The man kneeled down and respectfully offered it to his father. It was as if by seeing it, by taking it back into his own hands, that he was holding his son's body. It was enough for the first tears to streak down over his father's face, something he'd never thought he would ever see. Then it was his mother's turn to hold him and comfort him as he cried with the family sword in hand...without its proper owner.

The man named Akio who was their neighbor later explained the details of what had happened.

Wakagi had died during the fighting at one of Alluvion's desert capitals. His company had been holding their ground at the city square when they were overrun by Covenant forces. During the ensuing chaos, Akio had seen Mito's brother cast aside an empty rifle and draw his sword to fight. He was eventually approached by an Elite that overpowered him in close quarters. When it had him pinned, it took the Yamamoto Aka, lifted him up by his throat and thrust the blade through his chest until he was impaled. The Elite briefly held him in its grasp as it watched him die, then threw him aside.

By the time Akio had reached him it was already too late.

In the end, Mito's father had thanked Akio for telling them what had happened and for returning the sword.

As he drove away with his superior, Mito watched the Yamamoto Aka being put back onto its stand, seemingly as though it had never been moved.

From then on, he only stared at the blade. He didn't cry for his brother's passing. He didn't go through a time of grieving like his parents did. He only stared at the weapon mounted to the wall that had ended his brother's life, the sword that was now his own.

Soon Wakagi's picture would be added to the others. It showed him with his squad posing in a manner reminiscent of the one who'd gone just before him. All Mito saw was the sword that had been used against him. And that was all he would see in the two years before he enlisted in the Marines.

When it was his turn to leave his Father gave him the blade in the same stoic manner that he had shown to Wakagi. Yet there was a discernable sadness in his eyes that wasn't there with his eldest son, and he hugged him tighter than he ever had before. So did his mother. He promised them to remain in contact and lived up to that promise for the time that he was a reserve.

He echoed that promise at his graduation ceremony at Camp Hideyoshi a year later as he became a full-fledged Orbital Drop Shock Trooper with the rest of Class 477. He shipped out not long after for his first deployment with the 7th Shock Troops Battalion. Shortly after Falchion he was sent with the Reach QRF to Actium.

In the aftermath of days spent fighting, here he was, maybe soon to die on his own two feet. But that brought with it its own kind of peace. It helped him focus on only two things. The first was to hone everything he knew of the offensive characteristics of Kendo and the defensive characteristics of Iado into the fine-tuned culmination that his father had taught him at his school of Kenjutsu. It would be his personal rendition of Iaijutsu.

Second were his intentions. One was to save his still living comrades. The other was to kill as many Split-jaws with the Yamamoto Aka as he could in order to remove his brother's dishonor of having one run him through with his own blade. It was something he'd sworn to himself he would do for years. It was the very reason why he had joined the ODSTs: to avenge his brother until the family sword was no longer red but purple.

The memory of Wakagi's promise was the last to cross his mind in the ten seconds after he had stepped onto the plains.

"I didn't forget. I won't. I promise."

"Do you speak to yourself, human?" The Field Marshal asked. "Perhaps it is better for you then that I am about to remove your head from your shoulders."

Mito wasn't paying the Elite any mind but kept his focus on the energy sword. But his attention drifted down to another weapon on the Elite's person. An idea was beginning to form. Quickly, he gathered a strategy together, one that, if he executed it right, may very well be the key to winning this fight.

Fratres - Brothers


End file.
